Deceived
by heiots
Summary: James 'Sawyer' Ford is a conman, and he has just spotted his latest target, the insecure Juliet Burke, whose life is a living hell. With the promise of being her knight in shining armour, he rides into her life. What he doesn't anticipate, however, is how fast his con quickly gets out of hand. Suliet.
1. Chapter 1

**Chapter 1**

It was a small cubicle, and it stank to high heavens with good reason. For the second time in that minute, she questioned herself why on earth was she hiding in the toilet. Anyone with horse sense didn't have to make a trip to the restroom to make a call. She smiled wryly. Then again, anyone sane would not have married someone who was a sorry excuse for a man, which was really the only reason why she considered herself to be worse than him.

Pressing the cell phone closer to her ear, she whispered, "Come on, Rachel. Pick up the phone." A sense of urgency flooded her as she listened to endless ringing. Any minute now, he would notice her disappearance from the lab.

"Hello?" Her sister's familiar voice filled her ear, thick with sleep.

She expelled her breath in relief. It wasn't the answering machine. "Hey."

There was a pause. "Are you okay?"

Trust her sister to know something wasn't right even when she said nothing. She shuffled her feet, shod in black pumps, positioning them side by side on the greyish-white tiles.

"Juliet?"

"I'm fine," she replied, knowing that was far from the truth. That was her standard answer, one she always gave no matter who asked. She had lots of experience in evading questions she didn't wish to face. She changed the topic, focusing the attention elsewhere. "How are you doing today?"

"I'm fine," Rachel echoed her reply cockily.

She got the point but ignored it all the same. "Any vomiting? Dizziness?"

"No. I just woke up about five minutes ago actually. I've never slept for so long since I got sick."

"That's good news."

"Hm."

"You're feeling better then?"

"A little."

The door squeaked as it swung open. She stiffened, holding her breath. Someone stepped in, making her way to one of the sinks and turning on the tap. She placed a hand on the faint pink-colored wooden wall that separated the cubicles, counting the seconds till the woman left.

"Juliet?"

The flow of water cut off. There was a tearing of paper towels. Heels clicked on the floor. The door squeaked again and then all was silent.

She released her breath. "Yeah."

"What's going on?"

"Nothing," she lied. "I can't come over tonight. Something's come up in the lab and I've got to work late. I'll see you during the weekend, okay?"

"You're not gonna be here tonight?"

She heard the twinge of disappointment in her sister's voice. "I'm sorry, Rachel. It's just that this—"

"I was kidding," her sister interrupted with a chuckle. "I wouldn't dream of keeping you from your work. It's your life."

"Are you sure?"

"I'll be all right."

She nibbled on her bottom lip. "Well, call me if you feel unwell or if you need to talk or anything, okay?"

"I will. Quit worryin'."

She could almost hear her sister's teasing smile. "I'll see you on Saturday then." At that moment, she wished so badly to be with her sibling right now. She pulled the phone away and disconnected the call. It was time to get back to work. Unlatching the door, she strode past the rest of the empty cubicles. She walked through the doorway down the corridor only to hear the one voice that she detested call her name. It made her want to run, but she didn't. She couldn't. With dread curling inside her, she turned around.

His smirking face greeted her. "Edmund," she managed uncomfortably, barely able to keep her eyes up from the ground.

"Juliet." His voice had the ability to turn her into stone. "I don't think it's break time."

Her jaw worked. "I...had to use the restroom," she stuttered.

"Really."

She could hear footsteps coming down the hall, footsteps that sounded like there was more than just one person walking their way.

_Oh please, not now._

She cleared her throat. "I think it's best I get back to work."

As she turned her back on him, he raised his voice. "Just because you're my wife doesn't mean you can slack on the job, Juliet."

She cringed, meeting the bewildered expressions of colleagues that she recognized worked on the same floor as she did. Ducking her head to hide her flaming face, she passed them swiftly, increasing her pace until she was back in her office chair.

Safe. At least, for now.

* * *

Standing in the blistering heat, he sat his leather briefcase down as he waited for the cab to appear in the distance. He chewed a tasteless piece of gum that had been in his mouth for at least three hours. Casting a furtive glance around and spotting the few people paying no attention to him, he wandered to a grassy patch and smoothly spat the rubbery substance onto the ground.

There. Much better.

He sauntered away, one hand in his pocket, certain that his little action went unnoticed by the public. It would have been strange to see a man in a three piece suit performing such unmannerly acts. They would think it most unsightly. He adjusted his sapphire tie, wishing he could just rip it off already. It was a damn hot day. Perspiration was soaking his inner shirt. He could feel it sticking to his back and it annoyed him immensely.

He caught the stare of a brazen woman in a short, tight black dress. She was seated on a bench across the road. Probably in her twenties, he guessed. She had dark brown hair with streaks of blond highlights. Her face was caked with thick makeup, but he could see enough to know that she had nice features. Finely shaped eyebrows, a sharp nose, pouty lips. Once upon a time, she was his type, but not now.

Now he had bigger fish to fry.

* * *

Plip-plop. Plip-plop.

She wondered if there was a certain rhythm that raindrops always made when they fell from the sky onto earth. Little spots of water dotted the wide window pane of the little cafe that she sat in. Who knew the sound of rain could be so therapeutic? She watched what remained of the masses outside scurry for shelter as the drizzle gradually transformed into a heavy downpour. No more pitter-pattering of water droplets on the sidewalk. It was now more like white noise to her ears, a continuous sizzle of some sort as sheets of rain drove hard into the ground.

She turned her eyes away from the sight, from the dark, dreary sky, from the dull colours blurred by the rain, from the miserable people huddled together merely waiting for sunshine to reappear. It could take an hour, or perhaps two, for the sky to clear up. She wouldn't harbour much hope for the storm to subside anytime soon.

Cupping her hands around her hot beverage, she closed her eyes and tried to immerse herself in the rich scent of coffee beans and milk. Low murmuring reached her ears from a corner of the coffee house. There were people carrying on a conversation near her, but not near enough for her to pick up the words. She opened her eyes. Two women, probably in their early thirties, were dressed fashionably in colour-coordinated clothes and in shiny heels. They occupied a table for two. From the laughing faces and relaxed body postures, she guessed that they were engaged in some girl talk. That was her deduction. Her forehead creased in a frown. She couldn't remember the last time she had a talk with any one of her friends.

In fact, she couldn't remember if she had any friends left.

She briefly considered trying to drown her misery in coffee. No one tried that before, she'd wager. It was worth a shot, but the idea of what all the caffeine in her body could do to her gave her second thoughts. That was her. Always having second thoughts. Never actually daring enough to take a risk.

The words were familiar. They sounded like something her husband would say. Maybe he did say them and her mind was just reiterating them to her. Her stomach churched. All of a sudden, the sweetened taste of coffee repulsed her. She leaned back and twisted her head away from the black mug, fighting the urge to retch. Shutting her eyes again, she forced herself to take a couple of deep breaths. As the soft, soothing sounds of jazz emerged from speakers in hidden locations, it filled her head, chasing away the dark thoughts and settling her stomach. Someone apparently didn't like the silence and had put on a CD. Good then. She had enough silence at home to deal with. Music was a nice touch to life.

She glanced at her watch, a round gold face with a thin brown strap around her wrist. It was ten to nine. She ought to be on her way home right now. She didn't see how it mattered, to be honest, since no one would be home. He never returned to the house before twelve. Sometimes, he never did come back.

Home. She scoffed inwardly. The word had lost its significance. The place where she lived was far from being a home. It was true, whatever it was that someone said. A house did not make a home, much less a house lacking in love, trust and warmth. She rubbed the tip of her tongue against the edges of her teeth as she stared into space. She wasn't even sure she knew what those few words meant anymore.

Time ticked by as she dawdled in that cafe. She could've spent the hours working in the lab if it weren't for her husband. Seeing his smug face was enough to put her off her work, though she would never admit it in front of him. Today was exceptionally bad. He taunted her before her sympathetic colleagues, utterly humiliated her. Just the recollection of the incident was enough to make her face burn with shame. Angry tears pricked the back of her eyes, but she would not cry. She'd done enough crying the past few days. She didn't want to feel those tears streaming down her face anymore.

The sandy-headed boy behind the counter politely told her that it was closing time. She replied with a quick smile, realizing that she was the only patron left in there. Draining what was left of her lukewarm coffee, she picked up her peach handbag, hooking it over her shoulder as she made her way from the cafe into the dark.

The rain had stopped. All that was left was the cold.

* * *

He watched her. In the outdoor area of a small bakery that stayed open all night, he sat in one of the straw chairs with a dark green metal frame, partially hidden behind the day's newspaper, and watched her. He was always watching her.

He saw that she was awkward. Every little bitty movement she made was awkward, the way she walked, how she angled herself slightly away from people even when talking, the twitch of her fingers, the constant touching of her hair. All of those depicted self-consciousness. Was she even aware of it? He sat the paper down and leaned back, likening her to an ugly duckling that had not yet come into its gracefulness. The slightest smile touched his lips. He would make her into a beautiful swan, and best of all, she would love him for it. Right now, she didn't even know he existed, but soon, she would know, just like the rest did. His plan would unfold precisely the way he wanted it to. It gave him much satisfaction to be the object of women's desire. Wasn't that what all men wanted? Deep down, though they might not admit it, it was in men's nature to want to be adored, to have all those starry-eyed women falling at their feet.

He watched as she lowered herself into a silver Volkswagen. There was a certain attractiveness about her that drew him despite her awkwardness. He couldn't put his finger on what it was exactly. He had spent hours at night trying to figure out what it was about her that pulled him in and had failed to find an answer. He knew others more beautiful, more talented, more - he searched his mind for a suitable word and finally came up with one. Those women were more qualified in every way.

But there was one thing she had in common with them. She met his requirements. He paused then and ran that thought in his mind again, cocking his head as he tried to figure out what was wrong with that particular sentence. He rubbed his hand thoughtfully against the side of his chin, racking his brain. When he finally understood what it was, it was as though a light bulb had gone off in his head.

He had no requirements. There were no requirements, only _requirement_. Just one.

She had the finances. That was all he was interested in.

He watched the tail lights of the vehicle diminish as it went down the road. As the car disappeared around a bend, he flicked his eyes to the white coffee cup before him. He wasn't much of a coffee drinker, really, but the night was chilly and he needed something to keep him warm. He picked up the cup and took a sip, hating the bitter undertaste that spread on his tongue. He set it back on its plate in disgust with a clink.

It was time to go. Tomorrow would be the day he set his plan in motion.

Grabbing his belongings, he pushed the chair back abruptly as he stood up. It protested with a screech at the rough treatment. He rounded the table and stepped out onto the concrete pavement where he saw a flash of yellow hair in his vision before nearly colliding with the woman who was rapidly walking down from his left.

He clicked his tongue in irritation. "Hey, Blondie. Watch where you're goin'."

He waved away her apology, dismissing her with a shake of his head. As he stalked away from the lights of the bakery, he felt a chill and became acutely aware of the cold seeping in through his clothes. He did his best to ignore it. Gritting his teeth, he plodded on. He would be home in just a couple of minutes, and when he did get back, the first thing he would do is get some water. The taste of bitterness lingered in his mouth.

* * *

In the cafeteria, the metallic sounds of clinking utensils and the cacophony of voices contributed to the chaotic atmosphere. On a normal day, she would feel as though she was drowning in an ocean of noise. Today, however, she was oblivious to it all. Blue eyes intently surveyed the tiny print on the faded news article about embryonic stem cell research. So engrossed was she in the reading that she didn't notice anyone standing by her table until she heard a soft clearing of the throat. She looked up in surprise.

A slight woman with eyes like clear water offered a tentative smile, her stringy, brown hair hanging just past her shoulders. "May I sit?" She asked in a voice as wispy as her appearance, but Juliet heard a faint, yet distinct British crisp to her words. "I'd find another spot," she added hurriedly. "But it's pretty crowded in here and all the other tables are taken."

"Please," Juliet gestured towards an empty chair. "There's plenty of room." She gave a friendly smile, knowing how it felt to have to ask to share a spot.

Thanking her, the brunette, who appeared to be in her late thirties or early forties, pulled up the blue-grey plastic chair. "I'm Mary-Sue Lewis, by the way. Nice to meet you."

"Juliet Burke," she said, folding the article into half and putting it away. "It's nice to meet you too."

As Mary-Sue took out her lunch, a bottle of water and a sandwich from her bag, Juliet returned to the meal which she had barely touched while reading. Without even having to taste the roast beef, she deduced that it was overcooked, judging from the tough-looking edges. Why did she even bother to purchase food from the cafeteria in the building? The meals she prepared were of a better standard than this, and that was saying a lot.

"Is it that awful?" A voice interrupted her inner critical observation of her meal.

She glanced up, surprised, almost having forgotten her new companion at the table. "I'm sorry?"

"The food. For a place housing first-rate companies, they don't seem to be serving very nutritious meals."

She didn't quite know how to respond to that. Being the kind of person that she was, even if things were bad, she didn't like to spout negative comments. She shrugged. "I'm not really a huge fan of beef anyway. I've never gotten used to what they serve here."

"You should think about making lunch at home and taking it to work." Mary-Sue set down the sandwich stuffed with different kinds of green. "It tastes a lot better, and it's a lot healthier. I'm very picky about my food. It drives my husband crazy." Her eyes clouded over at an unpleasant thought. "Of course, nowadays he doesn't quite care anymore what I eat."

_Huh. We have something in common._

The thought flashed through her mind even as her lips, as though on autopilot, moved to offer condolences. "I'm sorry."

"It doesn't matter." The forced grin that Mary-Sue put on somehow said otherwise. "It's been like this for years now. I thought when we moved here, he'd be different, but no, he's still a huge flirt. I don't know how I got to know him, much less why I agreed to marry him." She gave a self-deprecating laugh. "Guess love really makes people blind."

Her stomach gave an uneasy lurch. The words hit too close to home. She averted her eyes, her appetite now completely lost. She wondered if making a hasty exit would come across as a little too rude.

It turned out there was no need for a plan of escape, because Mary-Sue stopped short all of a sudden, a troubled look on her face as though she had given away too much. "Forgive me. I didn't mean..." the woman trailed off. Taking a deep breath, she bowed her head. "I talk too much. I'm sorry."

"No, it's all right," she said, though it really wasn't. A change of subject would be good, she thought as a awkward silence fell on them, and decided on a safe topic. "Which area do you specialize in?"

"I'm a researcher. I do cancer stem cell research. You?"

"Fertility specialist."

The brunette drew in a sharp breath. "Wait. That's why you look familiar." A look of realization dawned upon her. "Do you work at Miami Central University Medical Research Laboratory?"

"Yes," she answered after a hesitant pause, not quite knowing where the conversation was going and slightly befuddled by the other woman's growing excitement.

"Then are you…" Mary-Sue paused and scooted a little closer to her with almost overwhelming enthusiasm. "Then you're the one who supposedly made the male mouse pregnant?"

"Well, that was a little while back. I had—"

"I can't believe I'm actually meeting you!" Mary-Sue interrupted excitedly, pressing her palm to her forehead. "When I got this new job here, I thought I might have a chance to maybe get to see you or something. This is such a coincidence." A giggle escaped her. "I was expecting to see you on a pedestal! You're a genius, you know?"

Taken aback by the change that had came over her new acquaintance, who suddenly seemed like an entirely different person, Juliet responded with an uncertain smile, once again unsure of the words to reply to such a compliment.

Mary-Sue appeared oblivious to her discomfort. "I know my company is really interested in your research." She sent her a wink as though they were in a conspiracy. "And you. So if you ever want to jump ship…" She waggled her brows with her unspoken suggestion. "They'd love to have you. It's not all that well-known so you may not have heard of it. Most people haven't either, but it holds some of its own amazing research. They pretty much have no limits to what they allow their employees to do. All in the name of science, you know."

_No limits?_ Those two words made her curiosity grow by leaps and bounds. She imagined the walls of her boundaries crumbling down, imagined a world that allowed her the freedom to test out the ideas she'd always nurtured in secret, an environment without the nightmarish reflection of a man breathing down her back. The words tumbled out before she had a chance to stop them. "What's the name of your company?"

Seeing that she had caught a significant amount of interest, Mary-Sue leaned towards her, so far forward that her forgotten sandwich was squashed between her body and the table, and her eyes shimmered like mysterious translucent pools of water.

* * *

"_Mittelos," she had replied. "Mittelos BioScience."_

The familiar, calming fragrant of chamomile tea filled the little space that she called her private room as she mulled over the conversation that refused to cease replaying in her head. It had already been two weeks; yet, the opportunity that Mary-Sue had presented to her had shone brighter instead of fading away. She gazed at the flame of the candle that gave off the scent of her favourite tea as it flickered in the dimming light of dusk. The last time they met, she had informed the brunette of her interest, and Mary-Sue's eyes had lit up at the thought of her new friend joining her company.

She was almost afraid of believing it was possible. For so many years, she had dreamt of escaping this prison that she had unknowingly, yet inevitably created for herself. One decision had led to another, and all of a sudden, she was at this exact point on the timeline of her life. She wasn't even sure how she got to this stage.

She took a deep breath and leaned back in her cushioned chair, pushing her feet against the back of the cherry wood desk that was positioned right against the horizontal edge of the wide window. This was her secret place to hide out. It was tiny compared to the other rooms in the two-story house, but big enough to harbor a twin bed, a little white bookshelf, the desk, and a chair. The feature that had first caught her eye though was the tall window that was letting in soft orange rays into the room. As she watched dust particles float around as though suspended in air, she pretended that time had stopped for that moment, and for that instance, everything was calm. Everything with peaceful, and all was right with the world.

She wondered if things would have been different if she had been born with another sort of personality. Maybe a bolder, more outgoing character. It wasn't that she was unaware or oblivious that people regarded her as a doormat. She wasn't a fool, at least, not intellectually. No one would contest that, but when it came to street smarts and being capable of protecting your heart, she scored a big, fat zero.

There was a time when her elder sister had told her that every individual was entitled to their rights, but why was it that she, Juliet, would let others take those rights away without even making an effort to hold on to them? It had been a good ten years ago, but she still remembered the conversation line by line. She had bitten the inside of her bottom lip, hot tears threatening to fall at the harsh words, and replied almost defiantly, I don't understand why I should be putting up an effort to have to hold on to my rights. You said everyone is entitled to their rights, then why should I have to fight for mine?

Throughout the entire conversation, her sister had not raised her voice. She had not stormed around the room with smoke emerging from her ears like she usually did. The anger simmered just beneath her seemingly calm demeanor. She knew her fury was for the unjust treatment that she had received. Since young, her sister had always warned her that if she didn't quit wearing her heart on her sleeve and start standing up for herself, people were going to step all over her.

_Exactly like a doormat._

She let out a sigh, trying to dismiss the rest of the memory and wondering if she should extinguish the thought of leaving her husband's firm as well. Playing with the idea of joining another company was like playing with fire. She hated to think of what her ex-husband would do if he found out she with toying with the idea of quitting.

Then again, why did she even care?

As she dropped her head in her hands, Rachel's lingering answer that had ended the conversation that night seeped into her mind, and the memory played like a new store-bought record.

_There was a long pause, and the silence settled heavily in the room. "Maybe it's not that you have to fight for your rights," Rachel started again. The difference was that there was only resignation in her tone. The anger was gone, and somehow, that hurt more. "It's not even that they put a gun to your head and forcefully take your rights from you." Her sister's eyes softened. So had her voice, but it was right then where her next few words had torn her heart. _

_The tears that she had been holding back rolled down her face. The words had been barely above a whisper, and they trembled, but they hit her heart like arrows piercing their target with their sharpened tips, forever etched in her memory._

"_Juliet. No one is taking your rights from you," her sister looked as if she was about to cry herself. "It's like you stand on the street, and you give them away."_

_One by one._

The words taunted her. Movement stilled. She stared out the window, unseeing, and for that few moments, as she was taken back into her past, the world stopped turning on its axis. Alone, in that room, her breathing slowed until she couldn't hear the inhaling and exhaling of air in the silence, until she could imagine that somehow, she didn't exist in this world.

* * *

The sweet scent of his favourite season was in the air. The leaves had long begun to deck the world with their beautiful, earthly colours, but that all would soon fade with the emergence of winter. According to the calendar, autumn was nearly over, so by right, it ought to be getting colder, yet the days sometimes were still heavy with humidity and heat. The nights, however, could always be counted on to be chilly enough to have to wear a jacket out.

The weather reminded him of the female species. Tempermental, indecisive, and unpredictable.

He lazed on the couch, one arm resting over his head, and mulled over the latest events. Just yesterday, he had made a date with his latest target, all prepared to set the next step into motion. Who knew she would come bearing a piece of news that would throw a wrench in his plans? With each word that she had spoken, he had seen the rest of his meticulous plan and hard work shattering and crumbling into dust. A gentle wind breezed in through the open window, lifting strands of hair from his forehead as a greeting, but he was in no mood to enjoy it. He released a sigh of frustration. And to think that whole conversation took place with a third party at the table.

"_And this is Juliet. Juliet Burke." _

_He had flashed his signature smile and was immediately thrown off by her fleeting glance at him, the slight lifting of her lips that seemed more out of courtesy than interest. He frowned. Most women gave him a second long look, and she barely spared him one. He was an avid reader himself, but he wasn't about to be ignored for a book. Meanwhile, unaware that she had just dealt him a blow to his ego, she carried on reading that hardcover book as though it was the most intriguing object that existed at the moment. He pulled out the chair next to her, sat himself right down, and then stuck out his hand so that it would be utterly impossible to ignore him without being blatantly rude. In his easy drawl, he said, "Pleasure to meet you." _

_He watched her eyebrows rise in surprise at the intrusion. He would bet his last dollar she would take his hand, and true enough, politeness won out. _

_He held her hand for longer than necessary, refusing to break eye contact just to watch her reaction to his teasing. He made her work to have to pull her hand from his grasp. She lowered her lashes, and he could feel her hot blush from where he was. _

A chuckle of amusement escaped him at the image of her reddened cheeks. He knew next to nothing about her, but he could read women pretty darn well. This one wore her heart on her sleeve.

Something about her seemed oddly familiar. He rolled to his side on the couch, his back already damp with perspiration, and pursed his lips, wondering where he had seen her before. Within a minute of racking his brain, it clicked.

_Blondie._

She was the one whom he had collided with near the café that one cold night.

So that had been Juliet Burke.

Apparently, many companies were scouting her for her talent. To him, that meant lots of cash was involved.

He rubbed his thumb against his chin thoughtfully, somewhat registering the roughness of a stubble at the back of his mind. The target had found herself to be moving back to her homeland. There was no way in hell he would be packing up his stuff to move all the way to England. That would never be in the plan…unless, of course, it concerned a sum of money that could tide him through his entire life, which it didn't. It, however, did introduce him to another rainbow where he could quite possibly find a generous pot of gold at the end.

He pushed himself up on an elbow, the wheels turning like clockwork in his head. With each passing second, he grew to like the idea more. All he needed was to do his homework on her, and he'd be good to go.

_She's not one of them._

As the thought materialized, he hesitated for just an instant, but it was enough time for the guilt to worm its way in. For a split second, he considered abandoning the change of plan. He'd always believed that most of the women he conned deserved it. They were selfish, two-faced prigs who had both time and money to spend. Sure, he was a con man, but he was also a good judge of character. She _wasn't_ one of them.

But so what?

As quickly as the guilt came, he pushed it out from his mind and locked it tight. His victims were women looking for a little fun, wives with a wandering eye, rich people with too much time on their hands and searching for something to fill their days. Juliet Burke fell outside the circle of women he usually targeted, but he could always widen that circle. It'd be a challenge to see if he could get her to fall in love with him, not forgetting the brush-off during their introduction. His Southern good looks and charm weren't enough to attract her attention. That was more reason for the con. He loved a good challenge.

He plopped himself back on the couch with a loud sigh. He made himself think of the possible cash flow, the thrill of the con, the reason why he became who he was, and the guilt became nothing but a dull throb, which finally faded away. He stared up at the ceiling, and a slow grin spread across his face as he remembered the flash of those blue eyes beneath those long lashes.


	2. Chapter 2

**Chapter 2**

She liked it when she was the only one left in the office. Occasional murmuring would bother her, yet even when people weren't chattering incessantly, she still felt their presence like a physical intrusion in her privacy. It was only when no one else was around that she could better hear thoughts in her head. These days, she held more monologues in her head than she had ever dialogues with people. She didn't wish to comprehend what that might mean.

The harsh interruption of the phone pierced the air, breaking her reverie. Ah, well. Perhaps silence was just too much to ask in this world. She reached for it, wondering who would be calling after office hours. Hopefully, it wouldn't be the person she was dreading. "MCU Medical Research Laboratory."

"Hi. May I speak to Juliet Burke?"

The voice was low, but unfamiliar. She felt her muscles relax. "Speaking."

"Hey, I don't know if you remember, but we met." There was a pause. "It's Sawyer."

She leaned back, tilted her head back at the ceiling as she tried to jog her memory. Right. He was that guy with the dimples, the Southern one. With the recollection also came the cockiness that had struck her, that and the self-assured attitude that she'd not taken to. "Um, yeah. It's, uh…Sawyer Ford, right?"

"Yeah." She heard his smile through the phone. Then she wondered why he was calling. Just as she opened her mouth to fill the silence, he said, "Got a couple of things for you from Mary-Sue. It's important. She had to leave this mornin' and told me to tell you sorry for not being able to say bye."

"Oh, uh…" She tucked an arm around her waist. "Yeah, I didn't expect her to leave today. I'll call her. Thank you." She picked up the silver pen lying by the computer mouse and twirled it around, trying to organize her thoughts. She hated speaking on the phone. Every second she took to think sounded too long and too awkward on the line. "I can meet you sometime this weekend, if you're available."

"Sounds perfect. Saturday at six?"

She mentally ran through her schedule. She had marked it down to get some work done at the office before staying over at her sister's that night. "Uh, I have an appointment then. Is one good?"

He gave her the name of a little café that she knew all too well, situated right next to an all-night bakery that sold the little mouth-watering pastries.

It must have been a coincidence, she thought. The universe was funny like that, playing tricks on you.

She wondered how it must feel like to play God, to look down from the great big unknown and create these links of connections between people, spreading across time and distance. From space it must look like a gigantic spider-web wrapped around the earth. It reminded her of the mind, which she often liked thinking of it as s web reaching across the compartments in the brain. Every thought intertwining, connected to each other, overlapping. Nothing was ever by itself.

Not exactly scientific, but well.

She inhaled lightly, feeling the chilled air on her tongue as her flow of thoughts took a little detour to the pretty water droplets caught on the fine silken strands woven on the top of the small bushes growing by the path she took to work. The morning dew would glisten in the misty light of dawn.

The clock on the wall ticked on late into the night as she submerged once more into her mind's world where she was the only inhabitant.

* * *

Saturday awoke with a late start as the sun struggled to sift its way through the massive grey clouds. The morning had already retreated in defeat, leaving the afternoon the duty of saving the day. One ray bravely broke through the heavy shields, lighting up on a golden-headed couple seated by a window booth.

"Here." He handed over a clear folder filled with assorted documents. "She said everythin' you needed to know would be in there."

"Thank you," she said. "It's really nice of you to do this."

He saw his opportunity. "Can I get you somethin'? A coffee, maybe?" She tried to protest, but he held up a hand, stopping her words. "I ain't a rich boy, but I can afford a cup. I was planning to get one anyway…" He cocked his head. "Unless you're in a hurry, then we'll get the coffee another time."

She relented, and once he had gotten their beverages, he said, "We never really got past the basic introductions, did we? You know I'm Sawyer, and I do business. You're Juliet, and you're a research scientist." He grinned when she did. "So what do you do in your free time, Ms. Research Scientist?"

She gave a half-smile, then bit her lip, as if considering whether or not to reveal a thought. After a moment, she offered, "I like to read."

"Me too."

"You do?" Her tone was questioning.

He didn't have to fake his indignation on this one. "Trust me. I read." He raised his brows. "A lot."

They discussed books of different genres, authors, and plots, and he thought that perhaps he had finally hit jackpot when suddenly, she came up with a question that took him by surprise.

"I'm curious. Did your parents name you Sawyer after Mark Twain's novel?"

His mind went blank, and he felt the air getting sucked out of his lungs. "I don't know. I never asked," he managed to get out.

_Way to place a conversational stopper right there._

He used the few moments of silence to gather his thoughts, mentally rebuking himself for the split second his mind had failed him. He had tried to train himself for such questions, but they always appeared like potholes on a highway. You never really know when to expect them. When he turned back to her, he had on a smile that didn't reach his eyes as he focused the spotlight onto her. "I hear you're head over heels with your work," he said, tempted to throw in one of his terms of endearment that didn't mean anything to him, but at the last minute, refrained. It wouldn't flatter her, it might do just the opposite. "I ain't kiddin. It's how I heard you bein' described."

She let out a self-conscious laugh, her eyes flickering up to meet his.

Well, that was better than silence. He gave a lopsided grin. "How does your husband feel about this?"

He didn't notice how her knuckles had whitened, didn't think anything of it when she bowed her head, but when she spoke, he realized he must have said something wrong.

"Uh…" Her voice was low and so faint that he had to strain to hear her. "He appreciates my work." When she lifted her head up, he saw past her effort in pasting a believable smile on her face.

Later, though she'd gradually relaxed and conversed with him about mundane issues, the stiffness never quite left.

Once at home, he'd thrown his keys on the little shoe cupboard by the door, went straight to the refrigerator, and pulled out a can of beer. Dropping into a chair, he propped his leg on its wooden partner and flipped the metal tab. As it gave way with an ear-satisfying fizz, he placed it to his lips and took a long, much-needed drink.

He had brought up the wrong topic. So much for thinking he could have covered a significant amount of ground today. On the bright side, he now had a clearer view on her relationship with her husband. He set the can down on the rectangular table, lost in thought. How could one with such a grasp on intelligence and in possession of more grey matter than most people be lacking in so much confidence? He just couldn't grasp it. Her outward appearance was not off-putting. Of course, her taste in clothing could be improved on. He scrunched up his face, thinking of the lacy blouse that she'd worn. Maybe fashion was all subjective, but if he had his way, she would have an entirely different wardrobe. Taking another couple of gulps from the can, he redirected his train of thoughts before they went in the direction of the gutter.

He ought to be more careful from this time onwards. If she had managed to read him during his slip-up the way he had managed read her today…

He shook his head, not wishing to consider what it might have resulted in. Trust was absolutely crucial if he needed to proceed with his plan. However, if he ever did happen to blank out again like he did today, all he'd to do was to turn the attention back onto her. It was easy to see that she wasn't comfortable with the focus on her. When one was flustered, the mind would not process details as clearly as it usually would. It might just save his skin.

He finished up the rest of his beer, savouring the bitterness that would always be more appealing to him than coffee. He wanted the money, but at the same time, he was intrigued by the woman. He wanted to know how to break into that little private space without her responding by curling up like a snail in its shell like she did today. At least he'd seen the first flicker of interest, which was a good sign. His love for reading was that little nugget of information, a key that unlocked the door that he'd been banging on for a while now. He just needed to find these tidbits to reel her in. He had to find a way to get her to let down her defenses.

He aimed the empty can at the trash bin. It flew in with a hollow clunk.

_Score. _

* * *

She wrapped her rain jacket tighter around her body as though it could keep the cold from seeping through. Winter was certainly approaching, one could tell by the nights, and _why_ was her sister not getting the door? The earth would get sucked into a black hole by the time she opened it.

"Juliet!"

"Rachel, hi." She returned the greeting, quickly stepping into the apartment.

It was small, but cozy, coated in a pale yellow that was altogether cheery but not overwhelmingly perky. A purple couch sat on the side, facing a little black flat screen television. Curtains framed the windows, showing off the nightlife of Miami. The heater was on, she noted thankfully as she shrugged off her jacket.

"Cold out there, huh," Rachel grinned as she grabbed her sister's jacket and tossed it on the back of the couch.

Juliet had to smile, her earlier irritation melting like snow in the sun. She couldn't be mad at her elder sister, especially when today seemed like a good day for her. That bright sunshine mood was few and far between these days. Rachel did look particularly in the pink of health. The paleness had subsided a bit, and her eyes had a sparkle in them.

"Something good happen today?" She asked after giving Rachel a long hug. "You're all smiley."

"No," she lifted her brows. "Just my little sister coming to visit."

"I'm 33, Rach, hardly little anymore."

"You know you'll always be the littlest, Jules."

"Well, I've told you you can't protect me forever," she said over her shoulder as she headed to the kitchen.

Rachel followed her in, and Juliet was thankful when she didn't add to her statement.

"Tea?" She offered, then saw the kettle already on the stove with the steam rising from its spout. "Oh, you were already planning for some."

"Yes," Rachel leaned against the side of the kitchen table. "You always have tea whenever you come over." She smiled, eyes following her sister as she pulled a tea canister from the top cupboard. "And you always get the same tea though I have many," she gestured for emphasis. "Other options for you to choose from."

Juliet laughed. "How did you get to know me so well? You could actually pass off as my sister," she joked as she held the opened tea tin to her nose and inhaled the fragrant scent of dried peach deeply. "If I could smell this all day…"

"I thought I just gave you a tin just last month."

"Finished it. Probably because I brought it to work too. I might've had a cup everyday…or more."

"Such a tea-drinker," Rachel said fondly. "How's life treating my little sis?"

"Oh, you know, the usual," Juliet busied herself pouring the boiling water into two ceramic cups, careful to keep her fingers from the splatters of hot droplets. She felt her sister's eyes boring into her back and turned around to meet her gaze. "Really."

"You know, I've always had such a hard time getting you to open up or share anything. It always feels like I need a crowbar to pry you open."

"Very funny," she turned her attention back to the tea, reaching for the tiny honey pot. "I tell you things. You're the only one I really talk to. Honey?"

"Only because I spend all that time and effort making you talk to me, and no, thank you."

"That's nothing wrong with that." She placed the honey back where it was, and handed one cup to Rachel. "I'm not that kind of person who lets things build up and then goes crazy one day. There's no one last straw that will break this camel's back. I just…"

"You just let things go on the way they are."

She sighed, letting her blond hair fall forward to hide her face. She really didn't want to talk about that. Her blue eyes sent a plea to her sister. "Let's not do this today, Rach. I just want to enjoy my weekend with you."

It took a second, but Rachel finally broke into a relenting smile.

In the living room, she sat on the floor, back supported by the couch that her sister laid on. The noises of the night traffic were muffled through the walls while a commentary on a nature show played on the television. She watched with mild interest as a tawny lioness stalked a gazelle through the tall grass.

"You hungry? I have leftover pasta in the fridge."

She didn't feel compelled to move. "No. I had a sub a while ago when I dropped by the office."

"Sure?"

"Yeah. Maybe later."

"'kay. Let me know."

After a moment of silence, she heard Rachel shifting positions. "Who is this Sawyer guy you said you were meeting again?"

"Friend of a friend." She finally moved from her catatonic state, twisting her head around to talk to her sister. "I thought I told you about him. Why?"

"Just curious. I haven't heard you mention anyone new in a while." Rachel teased. "Especially not a guy."

She shook her head, settling back into her original position. "Rachel…no."

"Hey, you never know when the ideal guy might walk into your life." Rachel took a deep breath and let it out in a sigh. "So…what's he like?"

"He was nice. Very southern." She leaned her head back, resting it against the soft cushioned edge, and closed her eyes. "Blond hair, tall…dimples." Her lips curled upwards. "He likes books."

"Mmm."

"He was kind of cocky the first time I met him. I thought he was full of himself."

"Get to know him. People aren't always what they seem to be."

She didn't know if she ever agreed. She murmured something as the dreamy greyness enfolded her until she was drifting off into blissful unconsciousness.


	3. Chapter 3

**Chapter 3**

"Good afternoon, Mrs. Burke. It's nice to meet you."

She stepped forward tentatively and took his hand. "It's a pleasure to meet you too, Mr. Alpert."

"Please," he smiled, showing off a gleaming set of even teeth. "Call me Richard."

She returned his friendly smile. "Richard then. Juliet."

"Juliet, please. Come in. Have a seat." He opened his office door wider, inviting her in. He looked the part of a well-to-do businessman with dark suit and black shoes reflecting the ceiling lights.

His office had a good view from the fifteenth floor. It was spacious with four windows placed side by side, letting in copious amounts of sunlight. There were no photos sitting on the little ledge sans one of what seemed to be green hills surrounded by the ocean. The entire office was spick and span. There were no files, no papers, and no stationery that she could see. The ceiling-high fancy cupboards were empty. The cabinets looked brand-new. She noted the colour and model of all the furniture matched perfectly. All the office desk had was an Apple computer with its keyboard and mouse. The office chair was positioned at just the right angle behind the desk as though ready for a photoshoot. In short, it looked as though no one worked in the office.

"Please, sit," he held out a hand towards the black leather couch that was almost unnoticeable by the door. In the midst of a glass table, a small quaint pale turquoise vase held a handful of wildflowers, looking out of place in the office. It must be strange to be the only living thing in a world of non-breathing objects. She sat almost cautiously, somewhat afraid she would disturb the balance of the atmosphere. Richard, on the other hand, did not seem to notice anything out of the ordinary. He made himself comfortable on the other end of the couch, resting the ankle of one leg on the knee of the other. She could have sworn he was perfectly dressed.

What was wrong with this picture? The perfect model perfectly dressed in a perfectly clean office room. It was a scene right out of GQ magazine.

She shuffled her feet, acutely aware when her heels clicked against the wooden floor.

"Can I get you something? Tea? Coffee? We've even got orange juice if you'd like some." Richard gazed at her with his dark eyes as one hand smoothed his navy tie against his perfectly pressed starched white shirt. She fought the urge to fidget. She didn't need a drink.

"All right then. Let's get down to business." He smiled again, eyes crinkling at the corners. "I hope to put you at ease, Juliet. Let me know if there's anything I can do for you during this session…or even after, alright?"

She nodded once, not finding a suitable reply ready on her tongue.

"I know you're here because you're interested in Mittelos BioScience." When he received her nod, he went on. "Which is good to hear because you must know that we're really interested in you too. We've made no secret about it around here." He pressed his hands together at the fingertips. "We've wanted to…well, poach is a strong word, but it is what it is." He gave a laugh without a hint of self-consciousness. "We've wanted to poach you from MCU Medical Research Laboratory for a long time. Now, what exactly do you know about our company?"

"Well." She looked down, spending a moment trying to figure out her words. "To be honest, not much. All I really know about the company is from the documents I was given. I've tried searching on the web for Mittelos BioScience, and I went to the library, but I couldn't find anything."

"I will have to admit we're pretty low-key," he admitted. "We aren't your typical scientific research company that you can find in the yellow pages. We, however, are proud to be able to say that any scientist who joins us will have pretty much access to research whichever topic that is of interest to them." His dark eyes seemed to look right into her. "I'll be honest with you, Juliet. Not many companies can offer you what we can. I don't know how many times I've said this, but I can't make this clear enough. We are _very_ interested in you joining us, because with your talents and your knowledge, perhaps you will be able to help us solve a problem. We've been facing a slight…issue." He read her expression well enough. "Which will be expounded upon on your first day with us. But I assure you it will be of interest to you because it concerns that pregnant mouse of yours." He rested his head on a hand, elbow on the couch arm. "Now, I already know we'll take you in a heartbeat, but for the sake of official matters, we need to ask these questions. I hope you understand. So, that settled, tell me about your strengths."

She spoke carefully. "I like to analyze things. I like to think in general. I'm good at classifying and organizing." _Naturally, Ms. Scientist._ She winced inwardly. "I'm also a little workaholic, if that counts as a strength."

Richard grinned. "We appreciate those around here, and at the place where our main lab is stationed."

"Oh." She sat up a little straighter. "I thought this was the main laboratory."

"I did mention we do a lot of research, didn't I?" He winked. "Can't really carry that out here. We have our very own place to conduct that research. Unfortunately, it goes against our company's policy to reveal the location until the contract has been signed."

A little frown began to form. For the first time, she started to doubt the validity of the company. She had never heard of such a condition before in her entire working experience in the science field. Of course, she had only switched jobs once after graduation, but this certainly could not be the norm. That didn't mean such a practice didn't exist, but it certainly was rare. Add to that the fact that no one else but Mary-Sue had heard of Mittelos BioScience…

Richard's clearing of throat drew her from her thoughts. "Did I scare you?" His smile did little to ease her worries. "Trust me. We're legit, just like any other company. We just have totally independent funding and more freedom for research. If you wish, we can provide the necessary documents to show that we're approved by the government."

She breathed a silent sigh of relief. Anything that was government-approved should be in the interest of the people, right?

"Juliet?" He caught her attention. "Is there anything else you wish to ask? We've got your resume. We saw your expected salary in the email, and we're going with your stated amount if you decide to join us…and we hope you do." He smiled at her. "Diana out there, our receptionist and administrator, will hand you a copy of your contract. Take a look, and let me know if you wish to change any of the terms. If you have any queries at all, please contact me." He stood up.

"Wait, please," she got to her feet. "Mr. Alpert."

"Richard."

"Richard," she tugged at the hem of her blouse. "I would really love to consider this opportunity, but I haven't been given…" she trailed off, grasping for a better way to express her thoughts. "At least, give me something that I can consider other than just telling me I'm being able to do the research I want. Like…" she scrambled for an idea among the masses that had plagued her before the meeting. "Tell me some examples of the cases Mittelos BioScience has worked on. Show me the results. Something more tangible than just I can do whatever research I want." She stopped, wondering if maybe she'd said too much. She didn't want to lose this chance, but if she didn't clear her worries now, how could she sign the contract in peace? It was fair to ask for at least this much, wasn't it? She took a deep breath and pressed on. "This issue that you said you needed my help on, that I would love to work on…do you think you'll be able to expound on it?"

He didn't speak for a long time, his dark eyes surveying her, and she almost wished the ground would open up and swallow her whole, but she stood her ground. "I think it's fair, Richard."

When his lips formed a smile, the tension that she felt dissipated into the air.

"I'm glad you asked," he said. "Now I don't have the case file with me at the moment, but I will explain in as much detail as I can. You have to remember, I'm not a research scientist so everything I'm saying will pretty much be in layman terms. I hope you won't allow my less than competent understanding of this case affect your view of this company."

She shook her head, rousing blond tresses with the motion. "I won't."

He tucked his hands in his pockets, staring off at the distance as though thinking intently. Then he turned and looked straight at her. "We have women under our care who have become pregnant that we've taken the utmost care of. Believe me when I say nothing could be better done for them. Everything goes the way it's supposed to until their second trimester. When they come close to their second trimester, they slip into a coma..." He paused. "And they die."

_What?_

She stared at him, dumbfounded, not having expected that. "A-are…" she stammered. "Are you sure they hadn't contracted any—"

"We've tested them, Juliet. They're all perfectly healthy women, all suitable to carry a pregnancy to term. It's just that they haven't been able to carry past the second trimester."

She tried to grasp a logical explanation. They must have made a mistake. "How is that possible?

"I don't know." His eyes searched hers. "But if you could help these pregnant women, Juliet, wouldn't you?"

* * *

"Hello, Blondie, how's it goin'?"

She had to smile at the greeting. "Sawyer."

"Sure am glad that you can recognize my voice now." His laugh shouldn't have had, but the sound of it warmed her heart. "In case you're wonderin', I'm just checkin' up on you. Mary-Sue called me to ask if you've read those documents."

She set aside the book she'd been reading before he called on the bed and perched her glasses on her head. "I have, actually. I meant to send her an email to let her know, but it slipped my mind. I've been a little…tied up."

"Work killin' ya?"

She shrugged, though he couldn't see it. "Partially." Nobody really needed to know about her appointment with Richard. It wouldn't do anyone good to have rumors about her leaving, especially if it were to reach her husband.

"Hey," Sawyer's voice in her ear brought her back to the present. "What do you think of dinner sometime this week?"

"Dinner?"

"Yeah, you know, the meal that people usually eat when it gets dark."

"Very funny." Still, it brought forth another smile.

"So, what do you say? Tomorrow at 7PM?"

She hesitated. Did it count as a date? If it was, wasn't she off-limits as somebody's wife?

"Please don't tell me you're workin' overtime."

"No," she told him. "I'm not. I'm just…"

"C'mon. I've got this new book that I think you'll love. I'll bring it." His tone turned cajoling. "Just come out and socialize with your new friend, won't ya?"

A friend. That would be okay, wouldn't it? Decision-making had to be her weakest point. Good thing Richard didn't ask about her weaknesses. She wouldn't know where to start.

"Juliet?"

She gave her word before she could change her mind again. "Okay."

"Great! I'll be waitin' outside your workplace."

"Uh," she bit her lip, thinking that his suggestion might not be the best idea. "Why don't I meet you at…wherever we'll have dinner?"

"You afraid people might talk?"

The fact that he could so easily read her mind and that he was blunt about it was almost intimidating. "It's just…I'm not in the best situation at the moment. I'd appreciate it if things didn't get more complicated than what it is right now." She took her glasses down from her head and set it on the bedside. It was getting to be a little late into the night to continue her book anyway.

"Gossip never hurt me, Blondie." He paused. "But if it makes you feel better, then let's do it your way."

She smiled, thinking how sweet his words sounded and then how awful it was for her to feel that way when she heard footsteps in the house. Could it be? Her blood ran cold. "I have to go, Sawyer."

"Now?"

"Yeah. Um…" she sucked in a shallow breath. "I just have to go."

Just as she ended the call, Edmund walked into the room. She felt as though the air in the room had suddenly turned to ice, and it was hard to breath. She swallowed, her throat dry, not wishing to be the first to speak. Moreover, even if she'd wanted to, it would be impossible to force the words past her lips, which seemed to be glued together.

"No hello for your husband, Jules?"

Her throat worked. "Edmund."

"You must be wondering why I'm home early." He left his coat on the back of the chair and walked towards her, loosening his tie. "I missed my wife. My dear, smart, beloved genius of a wife."

She smelt the alcohol on his breath and felt her stomach recoil. "You're drunk."

_Again._

He ignored her statement. "Actually, you must be wondering why I'm home at all. I probably spend more nights outside than in here." His tie came off with a whipping sound as it hit the air. "Do you wonder why?"

She liked him even less intoxicated, and that was saying a lot. "Edmund, you need to take a bath and then get some water."

He rolled his eyes. "Now this, Jules, is why I choose to spend more time away from home. You're like my mom. Just in case you didn't know, I already have one, Jules, and tell you a secret, I don't even really like her."

She clenched her teeth together, not wishing to respond to his baiting.

"But of course," his voice lowered as he leaned towards her. "You have a better figure than my mom does. Why you hide it beneath all those frumpy clothes, I never know." His eyes took in the piece of literature she was clutching, and they darkened. "And all those books. You pay more attention to them than you do me." He grabbed it from her hand and tossed it aside.

Her skin crawled, and she knew better than to refuse him, because if she did, he got even nastier than how he usually was. She had scars and x-rays to prove it. She squeezed her eyes shut, imagining a door where she could enter into a different world, where she was safe and happy.

There, nobody could hurt her.

* * *

"_Oh, for goodness sake's, Juliet, stop crying already!" A young Rachel Carlson stomped her foot, hands on her hips. "You've been crying for days since Dad moved out. Have you had enough?" Her older sister stepped threateningly towards her._

_Her lips trembled, and she tried to stop her tears from flowing, but they just kept coming, like the waves of the sea that her parents used to take her to on vacations on the beach._

"_You know every time you cry, it makes Mom sad?" Rachel glared at her._

"_I…I try not to." She hiccupped. "But…but I can't." Another tear slipped down her cheek._

_Rachel rolled her eyes. "Well, you better learn how not to. You're not the only one sad. Grow up, Juliet."_

_Later, in the dark, as her sister slept next to her, she gulped her sobs silently, trying to figure out how to deal with all the hurt that was crushing her heart. _


	4. Chapter 4

**Chapter 4**

Little flickers of orange danced in tiny glass jars with pink flower petals floating in the water enclosed within it. Under the square table adorned with a thick white cloth, one of many clones in the restaurant, his foot tapped the floor impatiently. In the background, as Pavarotti bellowed out the high notes of an Italian aria, his stomach gave a growl. He glanced at the circular face of his black Rolex Daytona, noting that the minute hand had already passed the number 12 mark. The restaurant had begun to fill up half an hour earlier, and he was glad he'd made a reservation instead of just dropping by to get a table as he had planned.

A waitress fitted in her uniform, a white shirt matching her black skirt, stopped by his side and asked if he was ready to order.

"Gimme a couple more minutes," he said. "I'm waitin' on someone."

Just as the server walked away, he spotted her, dressed in a blue cotton V-neck sweater with black formal pants. She stopped at the waiting area, her gaze sweeping the room before landing on him. He returned her wave, and stood up as she made her way to him.

"Sorry," she apologized. "I got caught in traffic."

"No big deal. I understand." He waited till she was seated. "So how was work today?"

"Not too bad," she answered as though without thinking, a rehearsed reply. "Yours?"

"The usual." He glanced at her carefully as she picked up the menu. She was a quiet one, but exceptionally so this evening. "You're lookin' a bit pale today."

"I'm a little under the weather, and I haven't eaten much. Maybe that's why."

"Or maybe it's sittin' in an office more than eight hours a day that's gettin' to you," he teased, trying to elicit a light response from her.

She gave him a ghost of a smile. "So says the businessman who must have an entire office to himself."

"Not me. I go out and find my own business. I ain't the kind to sit in an office, shakin' my leg, waitin' for others to serve 'em hand and foot."

No sirree. He certainly wasn't.

He fiddled with the menu in his hand. What could he do to extend this conversation? "You know, I was thinkin' about what you said on the phone. About bein' worried about what people might say if we—"

"I like hanging out with you," she said quietly, directing her gaze at him. "You're a nice guy. I don't know why I was being stupid last night. Friends should be allowed to hang out with each other, shouldn't they?"

He couldn't find the words to respond to that. There was something behind her gaze, something hard, and a slight bite to her tone that didn't seem to be aimed at him. He wondered what might have happened.

She didn't seem to notice his lack of words, occupied with studying the menu. "What would you like?"

He gave the items on the list a quick once over, and stopped at the heavy pasta dishes, which sounded good to him. Actually, anything on that menu sounded good to him right now. He was ravenous. "I think I'll go for the alfredo. I've heard it's the best around here."

"Hm," she murmured. "That does sound appetizing."

Her tone seemed to suggest anything but. If it was possible, as she emerged from behind the menu, she appeared even paler.

The waitress that had approached him earlier came to take their orders with a small pad and a pencil in her hand. He requested for two orders of fettuccine alfredo, iced water, and coffees. When asked if they wanted wine, she declined, looking ill at ease.

"Well," he said when the waitress left. "I hope you like pasta."

She produced another faint smile. "You can never go wrong with pasta." She shifted in her seat, and the motion alone seemed to cause her discomfort.

"Are you sure I can't get you something else, Blondie? You look like you're in pain."

That seemed to shake her out of her strange mood a little. Not addressing his concern, she said, "I've always wanted to ask, where did you get that nickname from? It's the first time I've heard anybody call someone Blondie before."

That wasn't bad, he thought. It was a pretty smooth change of topic…for someone of her sort. He shrugged. "That's the colour of your hair. It's pretty, so Blondie's the perfect name for you. I like nicks." He wasn't about to give away the real reasons why he used nicknames. "I'll stop if it bothers you," he offered.

"No, it doesn't," she replied. "I was just curious."

The waitress reappeared with their drinks, a willow basket of bread, and a small bowl of olive oil. As she sat them on the table, his stomach gave another rumble, a not-so-gentle reminder of his hunger. He first offered the basket to her, and when she refused, he grabbed a piece of bread, dipping it generously into the oil, and bit into it, savouring the rich taste of the balsamic vinegar. Then he watched as she added cream and a packet of sugar to her coffee.

Naturally. She would be careful with her sugar intake. She was a doctor.

"Do you take your coffee black?" She asked when she noticed he hadn't added anything to his beverage.

He laughed. "Not a chance. I usually have my coffee with two creamers and three sugars, and still, I think that ain't quite enough for me. I have a sweet tooth," he added almost wryly. "The amount of maple syrup I pour on my waffles alone…if you knew of my habits, Blondie, you'd sentence me to life without sugar." He reached for another slice of bread. "Now I know you do mostly research as a doctor, but if I needed an emergency operation, and you're the only one around," he tilted his head, pursing his lips. "Would you be able to help me?"

"Well, it depends on what kind of operation you're talking about." She stirred the coffee with the little silver spoon, clinking it against the china cup. "Let's say if you were pregnant and needed one badly, I could help you with that…although I highly doubt you would require one." She looked at him with an expression of amusement. "I guess…if you had appendicitis, I'd know enough to perform the operation. Not the best around, but I'll be able to save your life."

"Pretty impressive."

"But it wouldn't be a pretty scar," she warned.

"Who wants a pretty scar anyway? Scars wouldn't be scars if they were pretty." His hunger somewhat sated for the moment, he remembered the novel he'd mentioned and started rummaging in his work brief shoulder bag. "So, this book I was ravin' to you about over the phone," he dug deeper, and finally pulled it out with a flourish. "There we go!"

As expected, her eyes lit up at the mention of literature. As she stretched out her arm eagerly to reach for the book, her loose shirtsleeve slid up by accident, high enough to reveal dark, ugly bruises on her pale skin.

His stomach turned, the bread he had consumed in danger of getting expelled by way of throat.

She hastily pulled her hand back, leaving the book still in his possession.

"What happened?"

His voice came out sounding sharper than he had intended it to. He'd seen the bruises long enough to recognize finger marks on her arm. Someone had done this to her, and it didn't take a genius to guess who.

"I had an accident."

A fool could've told that she was lying. As anger surged over him, he clenched and unclenched his fists, thankful that they were hidden beneath the table. He closed his eyes for a second as memories rattled the box he'd kept them locked in, trying to keep a lid on his emotions. He should've been happy. This was playing to his advantage, but he was not. There were few things in this world that he thought were unforgivable, and that was one of them.

She sat mutedly opposite him, arms wrapped protectively around her middle, eyes fixed in the direction of the floor. Her hands tugged at the sleeves unconsciously, avoiding his eyes. It was clear that she didn't want him to ask any questions, and why should he? He was nothing but a near stranger to her.

The entrées arrived at just the right time. They ate in silence, each lost in their own thoughts. She appeared to be having trouble choking down her fettuccini. He ought to have said something, but there was a gap between his brain and his mouth.

He signaled for the bill at the end of the meal, and they left the warmness of the building into the chilly night air. He stole glances at her as he walked her to her car, parked a couple of spots from the entrance, wondering how on earth could he reach out to this introverted enigma who seemed to lie just beyond his grasp and trying to figure out if it was normal that he should even care that much. Before he could accomplish his goal though, they had stopped beside a black SUV, presumably the car that she owned. He didn't know what to say, so he thrust his book out, saying in a rough voice, "Take it." He didn't know what else to do, but as he was about to walk off, he felt a cold hand catch hold of his.

He twisted around, surprised.

He couldn't tell what he read in her eyes. Maybe it was a touch of sadness, or melancholy, or…_something_. At that instant, he understood what it meant when it was said that the eyes were the windows to the soul. Whatever it was, it yanked at his heart.

His mouth worked, knowing he had to say something. "Listen…if you ever need help, or just someone to talk to…" His voice was gruff. "I'm here, alright?" The words came, familiar on his tongue, yet seemingly foreign to his heart, and he wondered if he really meant it.

He witnessed the light flicker bright in her eyes, and he felt his heart skip, an answer to his question. His breath escaped him.

When did the vulnerability of this one woman get past his defenses?

He hadn't experienced the sensation for too long. His fingers tightened around her hand, and her face registered surprise. He drew in a shaky breath.

What was he doing?

By sheer force of will, he released her hand and took a step back, hoping that perhaps the distance would clear his head. He had been too close for comfort.

Then she was gone, leaving him alone to ponder the strange things that were happening to him.

Just this one single evening, and everything had toppled off-balance. His masterpiece was once again in danger of getting ruined. He ran a hand down his face, stifling a groan of frustration. There was no way he could pull off a con if he was questioning himself.

He stalked to his own car, knowing where the problem lay. It was her. She made him uncomfortable. She made him feel guilt, and not just the little pricks of guilt that he could ignore, but waves of it crashing over him. He slowed to a stop by his vehicle. Staring into her eyes earlier, he could believe without a shadow of doubt that she had never harboured any ill motives in her entire life, and that made him uneasy. It felt like conning a child. He couldn't do it.

He turned, not getting in the car, and rested his weight on it, shutting his eyes. He was behaving like a wuss. Wasn't he the invincible conman who had so successfully steeled his heart against falling for the women he targeted?

He sighed. _Perhaps not so invincible after all._ He slid into the front seat, buckling himself in. The way she had looked at him was imprinted in his mind.

Did fate have it in her plans to foil him? The thought of getting soft was detestable. He tried telling himself that she was only a target, and nothing more than a means to an end, but he already knew he was fighting a losing battle.

That trusting nature of hers would either lead to her downfall, or his. Only time would tell who would emerge the winner.

He turned the key in the ignition, revving the engine, and pulled out of the lot with a screech.

That, and those stinkin' blue eyes of hers.

* * *

It was the coldest it had ever been in Miami during winter for her. Today, it fell to forty degrees Fahrenheit. She had expected it to be an odd season in Florida, and so it had been thus far. She wondered if her garden would survive the strange weather.

Wrapped up nice and snug, she headed towards the rusting metal gate that led to the garden. There wasn't much to see, to be honest, but she just wanted to get out of the house for a little while. It had felt stifling this particular day. Her arm still ached, but she ignored the pain. If she willed it hard enough, it'd just get numb like always. The memory was not a pleasant one.

A little twittering caught her attention. She glanced up at the trees, branches empty and protruding outwards. Nothing. Still, the twittering carried on, insistent. She stepped forward carefully in the grass, searching for the source.

Its jet-black feathers stood out in stark contrast amidst the green grass, already starting to yellow. It was almost hidden between the blades, it being such a tiny size.

"Hello," she whispered, not wishing to startle it. "What are you doing here?"

It cocked its little dark head, and peeped.

"Did you lose your way?" She inquired in a friendly voice.

It just stared at her, then twittered.

She lowered herself as quietly as possible to the ground. The bird made no move to flee, and she got bolder. As she crouched closer, she noticed that one of its wings was awry.

"Oh," she breathed. "I see what's wrong."

It blinked twice.

She had to take it in or it'd freeze out here in the night. She scrutinized the wing. She might be able to fix it. The problem was if it trusted her enough to let her hold it in her hands.

After many minutes and several attempts of coaxing and tempting with crumbs, and still it hopped backwards, just far enough to stay out of her reach, she sat back on her haunches, patience running out, and almost cried.

She was cold, her shoulder was hurting, and she was running out of ideas. She held onto her shoulder and grasped it tightly. Sometimes the pain went away when she did that. The cold only made it throb more. As through blurred vision, she took in the broken wing, she was reminded of her own.

_His enraged voice filled the entire house of two stories. She tried to still the trembles that ran through her body._

"_You hoped that I wouldn't find out you went in search of another company, didn't you? You thought you could just take what you'd gained from me and look for something better."_

_She managed to shake her head, lips moving but nothing came from them. She felt as though she was wilting when her husband bored his eyes into her. _

"_You know I can't let you do that, Juliet." _

_She shrunk back as he came forward, a menacing form, predator stalking its prey. _

"_No wife of mine goes out double-crossing me. I'll make her regret it."_

_Before she knew what was happening, he had grabbed her arm, hard enough to leave new bruises on those that had just recovered, and roughly spinning her to face the other way, brutally pulled it back. She first heard a loud, popping sound, felt the bones grating unnaturally against each other, and then, she heard her screams echo into the night as what felt like searing flames lick delightfully at her shoulder._

_Later, as she lay crumpled on the floor, tearstains drying on her cheeks, she fumbled for the phone that her husband had thrown at her before he left. She couldn't call her sister. Receiving the news that she had been hurt again would be a blow to her. She tried to swallow the sobs that wracked her body, every little motion causing pain shooting through her shoulder. She cradled the arm with the dislocated shoulder in her lap, as with trembling fingers, she dialed the number of the only other person whom she knew could help her. _

"Are you in pain too?" She whispered, a waver in her voice. "I know how you feel."

There was silence. The wind coursed by gently, ruffling the loose golden strands by her face.

"Please let me help you."

This time, when the tears pricked the back of her eyes, she let them come.


	5. Chapter 5

**Chapter 5**

_He was half-asleep and bleary-eyed when she called. A couple of seconds into the call, and he no longer was. He stumbled out of bed, grabbing his keys on his way out, and realizing that he'd forgotten his coat, muttered a curse word beneath his breath, returning to snatch it from the chair he'd thrown it on. Turning up the heat in his car, he sped on the highway to her house, thankful that for once, there was not much traffic on the road. All the way there, thoughts of what kind of damage he could inflict on the slime ball barraged through his mind. _

_No doubt he was an old-fashioned chauvinist in every way. _

_He pulled in expertly into the driveway. She'd told him that her husband had already left, but it made no difference to him. There or not, he'd still have stormed the house. It would have been even better if the man were there, because then he would have been able to vent his anger._

_Pity._

_She opened the door just as he sprinted up onto the porch. She must have heard him drive in. _

"_Sorry to trouble you this late." Her voice was muted, hoarse from crying and who knew what else. She hadn't bothered to wipe away the tear tracks, her eyes red-rimmed. She favoured her left arm, he could tell, and he tried to drive as carefully as he could on the way to the hospital, wincing with her every time his car hit a bump in the road. _

"_Sorry," he muttered through gritted teeth when he hit a particularly bad hump. He looked over at her. She was as white as a sheet._

_At the hospital, they encountered one of the few only available doctors that night. He fixed her shoulder. He was gentle, and for that, he was grateful. _

"_Thanks."_

"_You're welcome," the man's tone was professional, but he gave him a grin. "Just make sure she takes care of that shoulder. It's in a sling to help relieve some of the pressure, and I've given her some pain meds that should last about two weeks. If it's still hurting after that, just come back and see me."_

_He didn't know where to drive her to after that. He was pretty sure she wouldn't want to go home, so he refrained from making that suggestion. Plus, he wasn't sure if he wanted her to be there alone, or worse, be alone with the bastard that did this to her._

_They sat in the car, she staring at a spot on his windscreen. He didn't know what to say, as was always the case when it came to her, it seemed, so he just sat with her until the faint words tumbled out, "Thanks for coming."_

_I told you I'd be here if you needed me, didn't I?_

"_You're welcome." He said instead. He tapped the wheel lightly. "Where would you like to go?"_

_She stared straight ahead. All he saw was her trying not to break down in front of him. _

_"I don't know."_

"_I can drive around or…" An idea dropped into his head. "Um, I have a place that you can stay over at if you don't wanna go home yet. It's small, but…" He trailed off. "I can sleep on the couch. You can have the bed. That way, I can make sure you're restin' enough like the doc said." He tried to joke, hoping she would smile._

_She didn't._

_He wondered if the meds were taking over or if she was just caught in her own inner turmoil. He suspected the latter. _

_So he drove her to his home, a little apartment situated on the second floor. It was a humble abode, but it was shelter for him. He turned on the lights when they entered, and he tried to look at it through her eyes. A nicely-spaced living room with a clean couch, a television set on a cabinet, and a matching dining table and chairs. If you walked straight, the kitchen was just ahead. To the right was the bedroom coupled with a bathroom. _

_Her house was a mansion compared to this._

_He turned to steal a glance at her, but it turned out he needn't had to worry about what she thought. She hadn't moved a muscle, the spaced-out expression still on her face. For a moment, he was at a loss for what to do. It had been a long time since he had to take care of anyone._

_Somewhat unconfidently, he ushered her to his bedroom, showing her what the switches were, the location of the bathroom, and the bed that she could spend the night in. Then he added in an uncertain voice that if she needed anything during the night, or if the pain hurt too bad, he'd just be outside. _

_He fell into a restless sleep at about two in the morning. It was still dark when he felt a weight on the side of the couch. He cracked open his eyes. She sat on the floor, her head on the couch, injured arm resting on her side. He wondered if she was asleep when her eyes fluttered open, and met his._

_He heard their breathing in the stillness. _

_In the pale moonlight, he saw a tear make its way slowly from the edge of her eye down her cheek._

_He swallowed, chest tightening. Getting up, he crouched down beside her and tenderly draped the blanket around her. It wouldn't do her good to catch a cold. Then, he settled down by her, making himself comfortable. A minute passed, and he felt her creep closer to him. She laid her head on his shoulder, and he may have imagined it, but he heard her emit a small sigh._

_He glanced down at the blond head and felt a lump rise in his throat. _

_Was this not what he had wanted all along?_

* * *

Snow fell in soft clumps, blanketing much of Alabama in white. He paced in impatient steps, looking all spiffed up and dashing in a tuxedo that cost more than he cared to think about. She had promised to accompany him, but only managing to fly in on the day of the event due to work. Her plane had just arrived two hours ago, and the party was in less than an hour's time.

It really was nothing more than a social event intended for those on their high horses to mingle and pretend that they were on top of the world, a gathering of perfect little people with their perfect little lives. He knew better, but still, they were people of influence. For many years, he had worked hard on getting to know the right connections to be invited to this, and now, he was in.

To be honest, he could have gone to the gathering as a swinging bachelor. He didn't need a lady on his arm. Only when he had received the invitation, he wondered what it would be like if she came along. He didn't think she would accept his invitation, so when she had returned his call the next day to tell him that she would love to be at the event with him, he was pleasantly surprised.

The swinging open of the bathroom door pulled him from his thoughts, announcing her arrival.

"Hey," he spoke as she stepped into view, all that he managed to say before his mind was swamped with cobwebs.

Hands clutching a silver-sequined purse, she stood self-consciously before him, which she needn't be, looking like a vision that she was. Her long locks had been pinned up, leaving curls of gold and a pair of glittering earrings framing her face. Her blue orbs seemed more illuminated than before, the use of eyeliner and mascara having done their work. A touch of blush had highlighted her cheekbones, and the black dress was form-fitting, falling a perfect length to just above her knees, showing off legs that he couldn't believe he hadn't appreciated before. The high heels only served to accentuate that fact.

"Uh, you look…" He struggled for an adequate word. "Beautiful," he finished weakly.

That was the understatement of the year.

She coloured. "Thanks. Rachel helped me with most of it."

He escorted her to the venue, where the guests were already milling around. He introduced her to the people he knew, and he was proud when she played the part well enough to impress him. She was the epitome of politeness and quiet sophistication. It made him realize that when it came to discussing her passion with others, her words flowed fluently like a flawless seam. Within minutes, he felt comfortable enough to part ways and leave her on her own as he went to socialize.

He went about his business, cultivating relationships and saving contacts for rainy days. After ending a conversation with the CEO of an affluent company, he searched for her, an action which he found himself to be performing frequently this evening. His gaze sifted through the crowded room and found her chatting with one of his old acquaintances, whose profession he believed was a doctor. She appeared to be holding up well on her own.

"Well, if it isn't Sawyer."

The woman who spoke to him looked vaguely familiar. He mumbled a curse in his head, remembering that they used to have a one-night stand. She was the last person he wanted to see right now.

He pasted a grin on his face, taking her hand and planting a kiss on its back. "Monica. How are you doin'?"

"Just peachy," she said with a flirtatious wink. "And you? Any…after-dinner plans?" Her eyes were suggestive.

"Uh," he stumbled. "I do, actually."

"Any chance you could possibly cancel them? Or…" She leaned in, voice breathy. "Take a rain check?"

He shoved his hands in his pockets, rocking back and forth on his feet. "I'm sorry. Afraid I ain't available anymore, Monica."

A disappointed look crossed Monica's face, then, vanished. "Well…to tell you the truth, Sawyer, that doesn't bother me one bit." She came closer, placing a hand dangerously low on his body. "If it doesn't bother you…"

He backed away, almost tripping over himself. Turning his head at that moment, he saw _her_ looking over at him. He flashed a reassuring smile, and the worried expression on her face cleared. She responded with a bright smile of her own before returning to her conversation at hand.

"Oh," Monica, having followed the direction of his gaze, remarked in a slightly jealous tone, eyes narrowed. "She's a looker, isn't she?"

His jaw muscle twitched. What was she getting at?

"She seems to be getting along pretty well with Jack, don't you think? They must have a lot of…clinical interest." Monica's laugh was not a pleasant one. She tilted her head to look at him, eyebrows raised. "Do you know he got divorced a couple of months ago?"

"What are you implyin'?"

"Just warning you to be careful, that's all," she replied flippantly, waving her hand in the air. "Jack's a good catch. Your little blonde bombshell just seems partial to him."

His gaze turned stony. "I ain't got time for your stories, Monica. Nice meetin' you again." He tilted his head once to signal his goodbye before striding off. He had a few choice words that he wished he could say to that woman, but it wasn't the time or place. He flagged down a waiter who was balancing a tray in his hand and swiped a glass of champagne. He then slouched to a less-populated area, where no one would find him, at least, not for a couple of minutes.

He could see them from the corner of his eyes, where it was obvious that she was still talking animatedly with Jack. The doctor did look exceptionally interested. He scowled. What if what Monica said was right? The doctor did have a lot more in common with her. On the other hand, what did he have in common with her with the exception of books? One couldn't build a relationship on paper and ink.

Cursed literature.

He downed the rest of the alcohol, wishing he could down the doubt that was plaguing him as well.

Sometime during the party, they received the news that the airport had been snowed in. After that, it seemed as though the party broke up soon after. He called to confirm the fact that all flights had been cancelled, then, hung the phone after thanking the operator and started towards the living room to let know her of the latest report. They would have to stay the night. Somewhere in the hotel room, Christmas jazz music played from speakers.

She stood, close to the sliding glass doors in bare feet, hair falling in soft waves around her shoulders as she looked out at the snow that was drifting across the scenery in the silent night.

His breath caught in his throat.

She must have heard him because she startled. Upon spotting him at the threshold of the door, she smiled, eyes sparkling. "I haven't seen snow for a long time now." She turned back to nature's masterpiece, voice full of awe. "Pretty, isn't it?"

He agreed, but it wasn't the snow he was looking at.

"Leave with me." The words tiptoed out from between his lips before he had a chance to rethink them.

He waited in nervous anticipation as she glanced at him, confusion on her features. "I'm sorry?"

His feet were leaden, each step an effort to get to her. His heart was pounding in his chest. There was no backing out now. He swallowed hard. "Leave with me."

Was he actually going to put everything on the line for her?

As realization of what he was asking dawned upon her, she dropped her eyes to the ground. "You've been drinking, Sawyer," she said in a low voice.

"Leave with me, Juliet," he whispered, running his hand lightly across her cheek, brushing her skin, a feather touch. He searched her eyes, hoping, yet afraid of what he might find.

What he saw was a desperate need to just be accepted and loved, and he wondered how two people of such different backgrounds could have such similar yearnings.

Or was he merely seeing the reflection of his own longings?

His thoughts scattered like raindrops as he found himself sinking in depths of blue. He slid his hand to the back of her neck, burying it in her silky mass of gold.

How had he been so blind to not have seen what was before him?

His lips found hers, soft and sweet, gently seeking.

Was this not what he had wanted all along?

* * *

She stared long and hard into the mirror as though it could tell her the secret.

How did she get here?

That was the million-dollar question. One thing had led to another until it became a chain of events that she no longer had control over. Even if she did want to put a stop to it, which she had to admit she found she had no desire to, she could not. When did it all start, she couldn't tell. Was it when she first accepted his invitation for dinner? Or when she had caught his hand, reluctant to let him go so soon? Maybe it was the night she had given herself over to the sweet persuasion of his kiss?

_If you knew what was right, you'd tell me, wouldn't you?  
_

The reflection seemed to peer back at her with equal intensity, the same question written across its face.

She broke eye contact with herself and walked away, shaking her head. Plopping down onto the bed, she picked up the contract that she had lain on the bedspread earlier. It lay like a paperweight, heavy in her hands.

It was as though someone had placed a balance scale before her. On one side stood the man who had so unexpectedly walked into her life, colouring her monochromatic world with his brilliant hues of living. On the other was the opportunity of a lifetime that would allow her to pursue her dreams of research without boundaries. Making a decision meant that the balance would tip over, but she had to choose, and soon.

She found herself staring once again at the page stamped with the Mittelos BioScience logo, Richard's words ringing in her head.

_If you could help those pregnant women, wouldn't you?_

She bit her lip, the furrow between her brows deepening.

Wasn't it selfish of her to place her life over those dying women's?

She scowled, glaring at the contract as though it was at fault.

Why could she not choose both? Was it really not possible to have her cake and eat it too? If, and just if, he really cared for her, wouldn't he wait for her? After all, she only had to be away for six months. After that period, she'd be back, and all would be well.

But was it fair for him if she put the relationship on hold?

Her conscience attempted a not-so-subtle jab at her.

Surely work could not be on the same level as…

_Love._

She blinked. Where had that word come from? She crossed it out in her mind, searching for a lesser word and reluctantly settling for mutual liking instead. At the moment, she didn't wish to face the fact that she had invested more into the relationship than she cared to admit. As for work, it wasn't just _work_. For years it had become more than just a passion. It had turned into an escape from her less-than-ideal reality.

_But now that he's here, does it have to stay this way?_

The thought was tempting.

Much too tempting.

She set the contract down and scooted back on the bed, pulling her knees up to her chest. With one hand, she fingered the little silver dove that hung on the chain around her neck.

He had given it to her Christmas morning. The pendant was made of sterling silver with graceful curves that outlined the silhouette of a dove with its wings outstretched. Its eye was a round diamond that twinkled at her, cut in such a way that it seemed to catch light from every possible angle. He had told her it was a symbol of hope. Birds with mended wings were still able to fly.

She had had no words to express how much it meant to her that he had remembered her encounter in her garden.

She fell back onto the bed, sighing with the weariness of a battling soldier. It was going to be one long night of wrestling with her thoughts, and all the thinking so far had only succeeded in giving her a headache. She reached no real conclusion.

Perhaps it was all just chasing after the wind. It was laughable that she even dared to dream of such opportunities, and this was all considering the possibility that she could somehow escape from the iron grip of her husband.

But if one didn't have hope in this life, what did one have?

His words drifted into her mind.

"_If you ever need help, or just someone to talk to…I'm here, alright?"_

She had forgotten. She had _him_.

Her lips curved in an unconscious smile. She recalled how it felt to have him trace them with his own, letting the memory of him chase her worrisome thoughts away.

* * *

_She felt the air crackle as he stared into her soul, the part of her that she had never bared to anyone. _

_Could he see through her? Could he tell what her deepest desires were?_

_When he lowered his head to hers, she let him kiss her, let him love her. Let his lips soothe the unspoken pain that had made her a wreck. He knew the mess that she was, and he didn't run. She kissed him back and held on to him as though he were the only thing keeping her afloat. His passion swept through her, bringing her senses alive._

_She never had a man so gentle with her, so attuned to her unspoken needs._

_That night, as she lay beside him, hand on his chest, rising and falling with each breath, she thought, maybe, just maybe, she loved him._

* * *

He couldn't sleep. Something was bothering him, something that he could not ignore no matter how hard he tried. He was a goner. He had endeavored to be careful, but had still fallen hard and had no way of picking himself back up. The whole day had been shadowed with self-doubt and double-guessing himself. It started small, with the thought that she had not yet given an answer to him about leaving. It was naught but a small matter, yet it still managed to generate a sick feeling in his stomach that had only grown in proportion as the day wore on.

His thoughts were a source of torment. Finally, when it was nearing midnight and fearing he might go crazy in the head, he had taken his car out for a spin.

Monica's words, which had embedded their claws in his mind, resounded in his head.

It was true. She was a doctor. Strip him of his facade and all that was left of him was nothing more than a bitter conman. He had no credentials. Nothing.

If she found out, if she knew the truth, what would happen?

Would he lose her?

His heart twisted in anguish at the thought, and he slammed his hand hard on the wheel, a swear word spewing from his mouth.

He couldn't tell her. He couldn't risk it.

He tried to steady his breathing. Weren't things going well now? He had thrown his con plans into the trashcan. He would get a real job, and she wouldn't suspect a thing.

He didn't have to reveal who he truly was, did he?

He pulled by the premise of train tracks that were built long ago and stumbled out of the car. With unsteady steps like those of a drunken man, he made his way to the tracks. Was it abandoned?

He didn't know.

He was no man of faith, but this night, driven by desperation, he tilted his face to the heavens, demanding an answer. He had learnt long ago that life wasn't fair, but nobody had prepared him for the cutting pain that was inflicted upon him. His heart ached. He had a right to know why he was laden with such a fate. Would he always be confined to hiding behind a mask? Could anyone accept him for the broken man that he was, or would they run?

The lights in their dark haven above twinkled like diamonds. Beautiful, but silent.

It infuriated him. How could the universe be at peace with itself while inside him roiled a raging storm threatening to tear him apart?

He cursed and swore, yelled and screamed for an answer, resentment rising within.

But there was nothing.

He imagined he could hear the sound of steel on steel, the low roar of the creature that would gradually increase in volume until it filled his ears. The large steel monster could take him away.

Then, he heard, in the distance, the unmistakable shrill sound of a train whistle.

It wasn't abandoned after all.

Bitterness penetrated his whole being. He had come seeking answers and found none.

What was peace? He hadn't found peace since the day his father exterminated his mother and himself. Sometimes he thought he hated them for leaving him to bear the consequences of their actions. They were the lucky ones.

He scoffed at his own foolishness. Here he thought he'd be a hero and save someone else from her hellish life. He couldn't even save himself.

The whistle sounded again, closer this time round.

He was too stubborn to budge. Surely the universe or whoever was up there could spare him a couple of words. He could see it now. The bright glare of the oncoming train's lights that would soon blind him. Adrenaline filled his veins. It would be painless.

"_I haven't seen snow for a long time now." _

Her voice floated into his consciousness, and he lost his breath. He spun around, nearly losing his balance as he searched for the source of her voice.

"_Pretty, isn't it?"_

Her soft, sweet voice filled his ear, and those unforgettable eyes smiled at him.

What was he doing?

He came to his senses just in time, staggering off the tracks before the train whooshed by the spot he had been standing on.

His legs, unable to hold him up any longer, buckled, and he fell to the ground, barely feeling the impact of hitting the rough stones beneath him. Had he just skimmed the surface of death? A couple more seconds, and he would have been nothing more than a memory.

The train roared past, an uncaring steel machine, ignorantly unaware of the blood mess that it came so close to causing. When it was gone, it left nothing but silence once again in its wake.

He sat there in his dazed state for who knew who long. He felt nothing, not even the biting cold, his mind struggling to comprehend what he had just experienced. After what felt like a season of night, he gathered what was left of his strength, picked himself off the ground, and staggered to his car, numbed limbs barely carrying him there.

Wasn't he the man who had boasted about living life on the edge?

In the car, he crumpled over the steering wheel, hiding his face as guttural sobs spilled out from deep within him. He cried for the injustice of it all, for the eight-year-old who had been through more than anyone should have had to in a lifetime, for the boy who had done nothing to deserve losing his family but still had in the end, and for the angry, bitter man he had inevitably grown to become.

As sudden as the emotional flood had come sweeping over him, it receded back to where it had come from, leaving him with nothing but an emptiness that felt as wide and deep as an abyss. He swiped roughly at his tears. There was no shame. After all, no one had been around to witness his breakdown. Only the stars knew of his secret, and they were silent.

Undeniably silent.

He was all right. Everything was all right.

He cleared his throat in the quietness, blinking the wetness away, and made to drive off.

* * *

_Lies are like drugs. They are addictive. The first time you lie to yourself, you realize it makes you feel better. One lie leads to another, and it becomes easier to just keep lying, that is, until it becomes a web that traps you in. By the time it has come to your knowledge, it is too late to untangle yourself from it. Sooner or later, there comes a day where you cannot tell which part of you is a lie and which isn't._

* * *

The sharp ringing of the telephone roused her from her slumber. She blinked sleepily in the darkness until it registered in her mind that she needed to answer the call. She rolled over, hand feeling blindly in the darkness for the ringing device.

"Mrs. Burke?" A grave male voice, sounding too alert in the dead of the night, was a stark contrast to her grogginess. It should already have been a red flag.

"Speaking," she mumbled.

His next few words came after a slight hesitation. "I'm sorry, Mrs. Burke, but I'm afraid there's been an accident."


	6. Chapter 6

**Chapter 6**

It hurt to see her struggle like that. From the back of the room, he watched her every movement. Those who didn't know her enough would think that she was holding up well enough with the sudden death of her husband.

He knew better. He knew the son of a bitch that her husband had been. He knew that she must be blaming herself for his death though she played no part in it. It had been an accident. No one could have foretold it.

He knew she was probably spending the nights crying herself to sleep, and it killed him that he wasn't there for her.

He gazed at the stiffness of her back, wishing she would turn around once and look at him.

Would it mean anything to her that he was here?

"Sawyer."

He turned, surprised to hear his name. He wouldn't have thought he'd meet anyone he knew at the funeral, and he didn't, There was no recognition in his eyes as he surveyed the dark-haired man that stood by him. He was dressed in an appropriate manner in a black suit that he was sure would total the sum of a number of his cons put together. The man had such a solemn and still air about him that he wondered if the stranger had even spoke at all. He was about to turn away when he heard his name again.

His other name.

His heart stopped, and his first thought was that the cops had found him, and he was going to jail. But when a minute had passed and still nothing happened, he decided that it wasn't possible. He breathed a sigh of relief, then, gazed at the stranger beside him in suspicion. "Who are you?"

"Richard Alpert."

"How do you know my name?"

"I know all kinds of things about you, James," he said quietly. "I know you have been helping Juliet out a lot. I also know that she does not know these things that I know."

Panic started to curl within him. He tried to still it. "I'm afraid I don't know what you mean," he said in a steady voice. There was no use in jumping to conclusions.

"I know who you are, James. A con man who cheats women of their money." The man looked straight ahead at the people moving forward towards the coffin with their flowers. "Don't make this harder than it already is for her."

He scowled. "What has this got to do with Juliet?" He wasn't sure where this conversation was going, only that he sure as hell didn't like it.

"Everything. I'm sure she has told you of the company I work for." He gave him a cursory glance. "Mittelos BioScience."

"What about it?"

"Juliet has some very tough decisions to make and apparently many obstacles in her way of making the right one. We would like to help her." He paused. "We've already removed one large obstacle in her way."

He felt a chill come over him. Surely he must have misunderstood the man's meaning.

"So you see, James, this works for you, doesn't it? Edmund was a thorn in your side and our side, not to mention, Juliet's. We know all about him and what he did to her." Richard lingered another moment, probably to add more emphasis on his next words. "You don't want to be a thorn in our side, do you?"

His meaning was crystal clear.

He took a deep breath before saying shortly, "What do you want?"

"Nothing too difficult. Just to convince Juliet to work for us. Get her to sign the contract. We'll give you three months. That's plenty of time."

"She was already considering signing," he continued in a tight voice. "What do you need me for?"

"Because you're able to make her take that final step." Richard turned his head and finally looked at him. "And because she loves you enough to listen to you. She'll choose you over us if you ask her to stay."

He had no words for that.

"You and her sister have that power, to be specific, but you were chosen over her."

Chosen? What did he mean by chosen? These people were nuts!

Richard continued, ignoring his silence. "To put it simply, you can either help us and be an assert, or be a thorn in our side. We have no use for thorns. Don't cause her more heartbreak than she already is suffering from. The truth won't do you any favours."

He was speaking in riddles, and what scared him was that he understood every single one. They really weren't leaving him with any other choice with those kinds of threats, were they? He made himself continue taking deep breaths. His muscles were tensed. Up front, Juliet stood, expression inscrutable, as the people formed a line to offer their condolences to her. She had no idea.

"I'll do it." He said and glared at Richard. "On one condition."

Surprise flickered on the man's face, the first sign of emotion that he'd seen so far.

"I go with her."

He would be crazy if he were to let her go by herself with people like Richard Alpert. These people would kill just to get someone to join their research company. Whoever heard of insanity like that? Even now, he wasn't sure why he believed the stranger, but the look in his eyes had convinced him that he spoke nothing but the truth.

His mouth was dry. There was nothing to swallow. He waited for a response. Richard was silent, probably pondering and weighing the pros and cons of whether to keep him or kick him. He hoped it was the former.

"Alright," he finally spoke. "I'll ask on your behalf. I can't promise anything."

"What's your number?"

"I'll call you." His impenetrable dark eyes seemed to look right into him, then, he was gone.

* * *

She didn't know what time it was or even what day it was. All she knew was that when she stepped out, the sky was dark, lit only by the whiteness of the moon and the orange lamps on the dock. The waters stretched as far as her eye could see, all the way till it merged with the darkness of the heavens.

She closed her eyes and inhaled deeply. It smelled clean and fresh.

It smelled of new life.

A large, warm hand grasped hers. She looked up into his eyes and smiled.

They were given one house. When Richard had asked them, they'd requested just one house. Now she felt strangely shy. As though he could read her mind, he'd placed their bags in separate rooms, giving her the bigger one.

That night, after she'd showered and dried her hair, she lay on the bed, staring in the darkness, unable to fall asleep and wondering if he was already slumbering. She went out to the living room and saw him there, sitting on the couch, both feet planted on the floor, head bowed. She thought he was praying, but then, he lifted his head and looked right at her. The anguish in his eyes shot straight to her heart. She didn't know what had caused the pain to be there, nor did she ask. She went to him, and taking his hand, gently tugged him up and to her room.

* * *

"Hey."

"Hey," she smiled at his southern inflection. "How was work today?"

"Good. I'm a fast learner." He winked. "How are you findin' your new laboratory?"

"Empty," she laughed as he pulled her onto his lap. "I've only met one other doctor. Goodwin. That's his name. Good. Win. Goodwin." It sounded funny when she pieced them together. Then she brightened. "And I met the pregnant women for the first time today. Paula's the sweetest woman. She's 14 weeks along. The other's Colleen. She just found out she's pregnant." She blew out her breath, feeling the bit of tension slip in as her mind conjured the consequences of failing.

He tightened his arms around her, reading her thoughts. "You won't disappoint them, Juliet."

She offered him a sweet smile, appreciating the fact that he believed in her ability, and snuggled in his embrace, wondering how she had managed to unearth this gem of a man. Who knew the first time she met him, things would turn out this way? And to think just a couple of months ago, she'd never have thought attaining her dreams was even possible. She pressed her head to his chest, eyes closed, listening and loving the way his heart beat strong and steady in her ear.

Consistent. Reliable.

"By the way, Charlotte invited us over for dinner."

"Charlotte," he repeated, trying to call the person to mind. "Charlotte, Charlotte. Oh," he brightened, recalling their neighbours. "Red and Whiz Kid, ain't it?"

She laughed. His ingenuity at naming people never failed to amuse her. "Yes. Red and Whiz Kid wants us over sometime this week for dinner. I told her we could go. Is that all right?"

He buried his face in her hair, nuzzling her neck. She smelled of citrus. "Yeah."

"Tomorrow night then?"

"Hmm," he mumbled, in the midst of exploring the curve of her neck.

"Hey, hey," She nudged her shoulder against his chest. "You know what we should do?" When he didn't reply, she continued. "We should study that big book of Latin that they so kindly provided for us."

He groaned. "Hell, no. I ain't the studyin' kind, sweetheart. You know that."

"They said it was a requirement," she chastised him gently.

"Lots of requirements shouldn't be requirements," he groused. " I can find better things to do with my time." He waggled his brows.

She rolled her eyes, but couldn't help the smile that crept onto her face. "You know, I should really thank Richard for letting you come along. It was nice of him."

"Yeah," he said distractedly. "It was, wasn't it?"

"The only thing better than this is if Rachel could've come too," she said, too preoccupied with her own thoughts to notice his furrowed brow.

"She'll be fine, sweetheart. We've got the best care for her while we're here. 6 months will fly by in no time." He pressed a kiss on the top of her head.

"And I never said thank you." She tilted her face to his.

"To whom?"

"You."

He chuckled softly. "What for?"

Her heart swelled at the loving look in his eyes. "For giving up your job, for leaving the world that you know," she caressed his face. "For being with me."

Before he had a chance to say a word, they heard a knock on the door. She gave him a gentle push on his chest, indication that he ought to let her go. "That's probably another neighbour. I gotta go get it."

"Aw, do you," he complained, trying to pull her back in his embrace.

"Yes, I do." She tried to be serious, but failing miserably. "When neighbours come to greet you, you have to be friendly to them."

He gave her a hurt puppy-dog look. "You were never that friendly with me when I first met you."

She arched an eyebrow. "You were different," was all she said. Then, planting a light kiss on his nose, she slipped out of his grasp to answer the door.

An elderly woman in white pants and a yellow knitted sweater stood on her porch, holding a basket covered with a white cloth, preventing her from getting a glimpse of what was within.

"Good evening," The old lady's eyes twinkled with friendliness, making her feel as ease. "I heard that newbies were going to be here, but I wasn't sure when exactly. I'm here to make amends for not welcoming you earlier. I'm Amelia."

The affability made her like the lady almost immediately. "Oh, that's all right. It's not big deal. I'm Juliet, by the way."

"Juliet. Such a pretty name," The woman commented. "But such a tragic character in Shakespeare's novel."

She wasn't sure how to respond to that, so she merely smiled.

"Well, it's a pleasure to meet you, Juliet. This is for you." Amelia held out the basket. "It's full of baked goodies that I made yesterday. You can share it with your husband."

_Whose husband?_

She blinked. "Um…I'm sorry?"

"Oh." A worried expression crossed the woman's face. "Is the man who came with you not? I must apologize. I heard from someone else that you two were married. I guess they got it wrong."

'I Heard It Through The Grapevine' danced a melody in her head. "That's all right. I would have thought the same thing." That was an outright lie, but small matter.

Shuffling footsteps caught her attention. Sawyer must be trying to sneak to the rooms to avoid meeting whoever was at the door. "Uh, hold on, please," she told her neighbor, intending to get introductions done. "Or actually," she changed her mind. "Would you like to come in? I'm sorry I didn't invite you in earlier. I don't know where my manners have gone."

"Oh, don't bother yourself, honey. I have to get going anyway. Perhaps I'll pay you guys a house call another time."

Spying Sawyer's guilty face from her peripheral vision, she called his name brightly so he had no way of escape. Reluctantly, he made his way over, his countenance resembling a dog with its tail between its legs. Before he came into view of his neighbor, however, with lightning speed, he morphed into the charismatic southerner with a dazzling smile, a confident air about him.

Just like the first time she had met him.

Needless to say, she was impressed. She introduced them to each other, eyebrows slightly lifted as he took the neighbour's hand politely and shook it. Was his social etiquette anything but flawless?

Amelia had clearly become a fan of him, she saw with a tinge of amusement as the old lady chattered away.

"I was just telling Juliet here that I had planned to meet you all last night, but I couldn't stay awake, so I came here with a peace offering," she gestured to the basket that now nestled in Juliet's arms.

"Well, that's a fine peace offerin' if that holds what I'm thinkin'," he joked, a lopsided grin revealing boyish charm.

"Well, I certainly hope it's to your liking. Now, I wish I could stay, but I really must go," Amelia said apologetically. "The next time I come, it'll be for a longer visit, I promise." She was starting down the white porch steps when she halted and turned back. "By any chance, do any of you enjoy reading?"

They shared a look, almost daring each other to break out in laughter. Juliet replied first, ignoring Sawyer's barely-contained snigger at her side. "We do, actually. We're huge fans of reading. Why do you ask?"

"We have a book club that meets on the island. Every Wednesday, if you would like to join us." Amelia parted with a wave. "Just let me know."

"She thought you were my husband," she mentioned casually as she shut the door.

He paused as though he was about to say something, then, he pressed his lips together instead and gave her an indecipherable smile.

* * *

"Dammit," he swore again, slapping the palm of his hand against the flat top of the black speakers. They really needed to get someone to fix it. He glared at the mess of red and black wires in disgust, resisting the impulse to just rip them apart with his hands. He had just wanted to put some Bob Marley on. Now it appeared like he had to wait.

"What's got our Southern boy mad?"

Despite his frustration at the device, his lips curled up at the corners. She had some remarkably humorous and sarcastic jabs of her own, to which he could attest to, but a nickname-giver she was not gifted in. He turned around, resigned to the fact that the speakers were a lost cause.

She placed a large bowl of fruit on the kitchen counter and gazed curiously at him, hugging a book to her chest with her other arm.

"The damn speakers ain't workin again. I was gonna play us some music." He wore such a downcast look on his face that she had to sympathize with him. He held out his arms to her, and she walked into them, soothing his dejectedness.

"We'll get it fixed," She consoled. "Maybe tomorrow. I'll ask around. There's bound to be someone here who knows how to fix it. They should have a technician around."

He shook his head, perturbed. "I tried, Juliet. They're gonna have to get us a new one. Old one's broke well and good."

"Well, maybe they will. We'll ask Ben."

His dismal attitude vanished at the mention of the man who supposedly headed the group on the island. "You mean Mr. Tarsier?" He tried to mimic the man, widening his eyes to the point of exaggeration.

He did resemble the tarsier a little. "Sawyer, stop." She wasn't for making fun of others, but an unintentional laugh was threatening to escape.

"You thought that was funny, didn't ya? I can tell, sweetheart. You know you want to," he coaxed. "C'mon now."

It was his tickles though that did the trick. She succumbed to his attempts to making her cave in, conceding defeat, and the laughter bubbled forth.

He grinned, soaking in the sound of her laugh. He took whichever opportunity that came his way to amuse her. She deserved it, to make up for all that she'd been through. With a proudly satisfied look on his face, he nodded his head at her book. "Whatcha readin'?"

"Of mice and men. John Steinback."

She showed him the cover, and he looked upon it with approval. "Hm…my favourite book."

"I know."

His hands ran up and down her back. "How's the shoulder?"

Her lips quirked just a little, the tell-tale sign that she was going to cover up how she really felt. "It's fine."

The nonchalant gaze wasn't fooling him. He brushed his hand lightly over it, and she tried to hide the grimace that betrayed her.

"He pushed you too hard again, didn't he?" His voice had an edge to it.

She tried to brush off his concern. "It's not his fault, Sawyer. He's just doing his job. He's got orders to follow, and…" she bit her lip, hesitating. "He doesn't know about my shoulder."

"Maybe you should tell him."

She stiffened slightly. "I don't want to."

It was clear she wanted to keep it a secret. As someone who also greatly valued his privacy, he fully understood that it would take a long time for her to trust a person enough to reveal her thoughts, much less the unpleasant intimate details of her life. He also knew he could do nothing about it if she refused to. He didn't want to force her. He couldn't. "I went to your practice session today," he mentioned casually.

Her eyes flickered to his, reflecting surprise. "I didn't see you."

"Had to leave early for work," he said. "So I just stayed for a while to make sure you were doin' okay." He gave a faint smile. "You don't look too bad out there."

What he didn't say was that he had a terrible time staying in the shadows while watching the Goodwin fellow walk Juliet step by step through her martial arts training. He hated every single minute of watching the guy place his hands on her. He'd seen the man ogling more than once, not to mention that he already had a wife! If he weren't concerned about making Juliet's working environment awkward, he'd have challenged the man to a duel right there and then.

"We should probably go soon." She tapped his chest with the book, drawing his attention back to her. "Ben said dinner's at seven."

He glanced disinterestedly at the clock. "Ah, it's ten till, sweetheart. It takes like one minute to get to their house...or any house really. This town's so small, a grenade could probably blow it to bits. Or maybe a little bomb." He rolled his eyes to the side, pretending to be thinking deeply. "Or actually a big bomb would work as well, don't ya think?" His eyes danced.

"I think," she said slowly and deliberately, unwinding herself from his grasp. "That you probably shouldn't think that much because it's time to go, and we're gonna be late." She tugged his hand towards the front door.

He was right though. It took no time at all to get to the Linus house. The day had already begun to darken. Lamps were lit all about the neighbourhood. A few people still lazed on their porches or front lawn, trying to soak up the last of the day's warmth.

The door was opened by a young, brown-haired girl who stared at them without speaking.

"Oh," Juliet stepped back. "I'm sorry. I thought this was the Linus residence."

"It is," the girl stated bluntly. "I live here too." She swung open the door wider, making room for them to enter.

She exchanged a glance with Sawyer, who shrugged before they went in. The house was furnished in almost the same way as theirs. A clone, only perhaps just messier. Books were lying haphazardly on the tables. She caught the glimpse of a title as they walked past.

_The Sheltering Sky._

Interesting.

"He's in the kitchen." The girl, who looked fifteen at most, plodded beside them. "I'm Alex, by the way. You're new."

"Uh, yes, we are," Juliet replied, hand comfortingly clasped in Sawyer's. "Are you Ben's, uh…daughter?" She asked uncertainly, not wishing to assume.

Alex made a noise that sounded like a mix between a snort and a laugh. Then she provided a one-word answer and said nothing more.

Her lips formed a silent oh. That was something she could never have imagined.

"You work in the labs, don't you?"

She nodded, and Alex's inquisitive gaze shifted to Sawyer.

"I've seen you around. You're working with security."

"Bingo. A thousand dollars for you, Sheena."

They were a couple of steps from the kitchen now.

"Name's Alex," she repeated slowly. "And I've seen your pictures. I've read your files too." She threw Juliet a curious glance before she faded out of the conversation, preventing either of them from asking what she meant. As they entered the kitchen, she turned back into the typical sullen teen suffering from a case of boredom, and they were met with Ben, who wore a flower-printed apron over his pale blue shirt and dark pants. It truly was a sight to behold.

"My apologies," he said, holding up his gloved hands. "I've slightly misjudged the time, but dinner should be done in just about a couple of minutes. Would the two of you like something to drink? We've got wine, beer, soda, water, anything you want. Alex, will you see to it, please?"

She rolled her eyes, but did as was told. "You guys can sit here," she led them to the table with 4 places already set. Once she'd gotten them water and a beer for Sawyer, Ben had already set the main dish down.

"I hope you guys like ham," Ben remarked as he slipped the gloves off and laid them by his plate. "Do you want to carve the ham, Sawyer, or shall I?"

"Oh, no," he raised a hand to refuse. "Please."

Alex just let out a long-suffering sigh.

Dinner at the Linus' was an interesting affair. Benjamin Linus was the perfect host, polite and accommodating while Alex, quiet and brooding, seemed to be the entire opposite of him. How could a father and daughter be so different? Perhaps that was the mystery of adolescence, she thought.

"Have the people here been nice to you so far?"

"Oh, they've been wonderful." She told him. "We've had neighbours inviting over us for meals and offering to show us around. They've been great."

"That's good to hear," Ben's lips formed a broad smile. "And the Faradays. Have you met them yet?"

"Yes. They invited us for dinner, but something cropped up at the last minute, so they postponed it."

"Oh," he chuckled quietly, almost as if to himself. "Dan's often unavailable. Please don't take it to heart. He's got _lots_ of projects assigned to him."

"He's a nerd," Alex interjected, speaking up for the first time since they were seated at the table.

Ben clicked his tongue. "Over here, Alex, a nerd is known as a benefit."

"Whatever," she said under her breath that only Juliet was sure she could hear.

"Anyway," Ben said with a new lilt to his voice. "Sawyer. How do you like your new working environment?"

He cleared his throat, setting down his utensils. "Been interestin' so far. Walked some of the perimeter of the sonar fence around the Barracks. Tom says maybe we'll take a trip to the Hydra Island sometime."

"Did he really?" Ben exclaimed. "You must be picking things up fast if he has it in the plans to take you there."

"That's a lot to explore on the island," he mentioned, picking up his beer by the neck of the bottle. "I gotta admit, I didn't think much of it when I first came, but after Tom pointed out the stations and all on the map…" he shrugged a shoulder. "It's pretty impressive."

Ben beamed. "I'm glad you think so. I think you, and you too, Juliet," he nodded at her. "Will be wonderful assets to our team. We hope you will choose to stay." His tasier-like eyes went back and forth from Sawyer to Juliet, and they both returned a genteel smile.

"Dad, stop manipulating the conversation," Alex scowled at him, then directed her attention to Juliet. "That's a pretty necklace. Where did ya get it from?"

"It's a gift." She smiled with a trace of shyness.

"From your boyfriend?" Alex eyed Sawyer who merely cocked an eyebrow at her before he stuffed a small roasted potato in his mouth. "Doesn't talk much, does he?"

"Alex!" Ben reproved her. "Don't be rude to our guests."

"Just being observant," the brunette mumbled and returned to poking at her slice of ham.

"I'm sorry. She gets like that sometimes. She's gotten a lot better at being sociable though."

"Definitely didn't get _that_ from you."

The sardonic comment was barely audible, but certainly within the earshot of those at the table. She heard Sawyer's snigger beside her and kicked his leg under the table. He erupted into a fit of coughs that he tried to cover up but only contributed to the hilarity and absurdity of the situation.

"Sorry," he managed to get out. "Choked on the ham."

She fixed her gaze on the plate, pressing her lips together, knowing if she looked at him, all would be lost.

At the end of the dinner, they headed out onto the porch, bathed in the light spilling from the door, and thanked their host for a wonderfully done meal.

"You're absolutely welcome," he said in a delighted voice. "I'll be glad to cook for you anytime." His eyes once again swiveled from one person to the other. "Be careful out there," his gaze landed on Sawyer. "It can get dangerous sometimes."

They trotted down the stairs, her hand tucked in his, as the door shut behind them. It was a cloudy night with not a star in the sky to be seen. The harmony of voices rode on the back of a breeze. Someone was playing O Fortuna from Carmina Burana on the radio. In the dark, it was an ominous melody amidst the whisper of the trees. She tightened her fingers around his hand and was glad when they stepped into the safety of their house.

"Hey, hey," he held on to her as she was about to release his hand. "What are you going to do?" He settled his arms on her hips, grinning down at her. "It's getting kind of late. Whatcha say to some showering together and then bedtime?" He planted a kiss on her lips.

"Hmmm," she tilted her head, blue eyes surveying him in amusement. "How about we hit the showers," she patted his cheek lightly. "And I finish that great book," she released him. "While you try to tinkle with those speakers again." She winked at him.

His shoulders slumped. "Damn," he gritted his teeth in exasperation. "I _knew_ I forgot to ask him something."


	7. Chapter 7

**Chapter 7**

"Hey! You. Redneck man! Halt!"

The yell travelled across the plains, causing him to roll his eyes, and he waited for the other member of his patrol party to catch up with him. "I told you, Genghis, name's Sawyer."

"And I told you, it's Miles," he retorted. "So we're both racist. That settles it. We're on equal footing now."

"Oh, great. God created an Asian version of me," he muttered, striding on.

"Don't flatter yourself," Miles remarked dryly, trying to keep up with him. "I was here long before you arrived, so in terms of seniority, I rank above you."

He had to give him that one. He had just met the man yesterday and discovered that he was full of snark and dry humour. He appreciated that in a person, so if he had to have company while patrolling, he was rather glad it was him. "Anyway," he said after they'd trekked for a while. "This fence is for keepin' out the dangerous animals, right? Not for keepin' people in."

"Keeps out the smoke monster. That's the most important." At the receiving end of Sawyer's stare of perplexity, he continued, "Well, and all other things we don't want roaming in our town. Like polar bears."

"Yeah, right, polar bears," he snorted in disbelief. "Like I was born yesterday. Next thing you'd be sayin' is the runway's for aliens, and you think I'm gonna believe you."

"What aliens?" Miles stared at him like he'd grown another head. "There aren't any aliens here, unless you're talking about foreign ones like you and that blond chick."

"Juliet."

"What?" He startled, scanning the landscape for the doctor. "Where?"

"Juliet," he said impatiently. "That's her name."

"Oh." Miles stopped his searching, looking rather sheepish. "I knew that."

They resumed walking. He felt sweat trickle down his back. It was either patrolling or building the runway today. He had opted for patrol duty. He'd get heat stroke working under the hot sun, and if he had Danny snapping at him today as well, he was sure to blow a blood vessel.

"How big is this island anyway," he asked shortly.

"Big," Miles offered.

"Well, thanks for the very detailed and incredibly helpful information, Mr. Island Local," he said sarcastically. "So, everyone," he bellowed to a fake tour group, filling the air with his projected voice. "Look to your left, there are lots of trees, and on your right, a large grassy plain and, surprise, more trees. And to the front, rollin' hills with more green!" He broke loudly into song. "Oh, give me a home, where the buffalo rooooam!" He chuckled to himself.

"I am greatly impressed by your ability to self-entertain." Miles said dryly. "Anyway, back to the blond chick…sorry, I mean Juliet," he corrected hastily when Sawyer shot a pointed look at him. "What's the deal with her?"

"Why? You interested?" He cocked an eyebrow, smirking. "Sorry, she's taken."

"Please," he scoffed. "I have no need to steal your chick. I have no lack of suitors."

"Sure, sure, whatever you say, Astro Boy. You get your pick on this island." He stopped to peer at a bunch of yellow wildflowers. "So, why the inquisitiveness?"

Miles shrugged. "Just because. She's a mini celebrity on this island and doesn't even know it. She's so quiet sometimes, you can't get a peep outta that chick."

"Some people just ain't the kind to talk a lot," he said, bending over to pluck a couple of the flowers from the ground. "She's not much of a talker, but she's one in a million."

"Well," he said, squinting against the sun, and waited for Sawyer to straighten up. "I'm glad you got her. You seem like a smart man, so as one born and bred here, there are some things that I feel I should tell you." He shaded his eyes with a hand. "Some of us don't accept outsiders very well. They get very selective on who joins them, and there's no telling what they'd do to get their way. My best advice to you is to stick to the rules, my friend, and don't ask too many questions." He turned his back to the intruding sun, concluding that particular conversation. "Join me for a Coke?"

* * *

The sky was a deep purple with brilliant shades of blue showing through. In the far distance, all that was left of the sun was a fiery dark orange glow, fading with each second that the earth spun on its axis. They stood on the shore of the beach as the waves washed up to their bare feet that they had dug into the sand.

For once, he wasn't compelled to speak. When the colours of dusk had melted away to darkness, they found a patch of sand, still warm from the sun, and settled in it.

For a few moments, they sat in silence. He pulled his knees up to his chest, resting his elbows on them. She hugged her knees to herself. He stared at the full moon taking precedence in the skies, she at the waves that would never cease their rolling.

"Did you ever love him?"

His words hung in the air, a raincloud in clear skies. The burning question had been stewing in his heart for a while now, but he had been reluctant to probe since the accident. He turned his face towards her, profile outlined against the beach.

Her words were punctuated with hesitations, revealing her struggle with trying to keep her emotions in check. In a low voice, she told him, "Nobody gets into a marriage believing it's going to fall into chaos." She bit her lip. "For a while, I thought he was the one. Thought he could lead me."

He turned his face away, dropping his gaze to the flotsam and jetsam that the waves had washed ashore. "So you loved him." He rubbed his nail with his thumb. "Did you think he loved you?"

"I don't know," she finally said. "It's a little too late to ask now."

He wanted to tell her no loving husband in their right mind would manipulate their wife into doing things they didn't want or cause them physical or emotional harm, but he didn't. She was right. It was too late now anyway.

She added nothing more, but pointed up into the darkness. "Look. First star of the night."

They watched it twinkle with untold secrets. As the night slowly darkened the earth, more points of light showed up against the velvet sky.

"Think you'll miss the city?"

"Some parts of it…" She stared up at the night sky. "But I won't miss the noise and the traffic that comes with the city."

Or the memories.

"Favourite song?"

The expression on her face was one of bewilderment.

He shrugged. Randomness was just a part of him, and he wanted to change the subject to lift her spirits.

"It depends on my mood, really. I don't have a particular favourite." She glanced over at him with a shadow of a smile. "You?"

"Bob Marley, Dylan. Denver. I'm into the oldies. Sometimes, Bon Jovi hits the spot. Not the trash they play nowadays." He stared into the distant horizon, where one could no longer tell where the ocean ended and where the sky started. "I used to play the guitar. When I was younger, I wanted to be a rock star," he gave a soft laugh that sounded more wistful than anything else. "Guess that all changed."

She seemed to realize he was struggling because she pressed no further.

Then he almost wished she did, because he was tired of the masquerade. For a long time, he had hoped none of her questions invaded the deepest, rawest part in of his heart because he didn't wish to keep lying. Maybe it was time to release the memories that fought to escape the chest that he'd kept under lock and key.

"Juliet?"

The words seemed to stick in his throat. Her eyes told him that she had all the time in the world. In the silence of their conversation, she waited patiently. He tore his gaze away and focused it on the placid moon, his heart constricting. Perhaps it would help to pretend he was talking to it instead.

In the end, after a struggle with indecisiveness, he chickened out, choosing to teeter on the fence, settling for a truth that would not hurt either of them.

"People ain't always who they say they are."

It was a fact, wasn't it? She had to be warned that the people on the island weren't as innocuous as she thought they were. He was aware that this particular sentence was of no reference to them, however. His conscience twitched, and he blinked, staring hard at the unresponsive satellite.

"Though…sometimes they want to be," he faltered and stumbled to a stop.

His words didn't even make sense to him. He didn't dare look at her, afraid just by doing so, he would give the secret away. She wouldn't understand what he meant, but she would someday. When fate determined the time to rip the mask off, he would stand there like the empty soul that he was, naked and in shame of all his deeds. She would run, or accept him as he was.

In time, he would know.

He felt a hand slip into his, and he realized with a start that she was holding on to him. She was offering comfort the best way she knew how, and he clung on to that knowledge like a life buoy.

And for a long time, they sat with their fingers entwined, connecting, two lost souls keeping themselves afloat under the watchful eyes of the heavens.

* * *

There was a little bounce to her step as she stepped into the laboratory. It was a little before five, but she'd be knocking off earlier today. It was a special occasion, and she wanted to be home before he was, to celebrate his birthday with him.

The people here were generally pretty relaxed regarding rules related to time. Certain ones, however, could not be broken, and she had heard about the severe consequences. Sometimes the stories that went around intimidated her a little, but so far, she had seen no one capable of performing the deeds that she had heard.

As she opened the door to the office, she nearly crashed into Goodwin.

"Hey, Jules," he greeted cheerfully. "Haven't seen you at all today. You're quite the popular newbie."

She chuckled modestly. "I left at about two to visit Sabine. She's still doing well. Her blood pressure's a little above normal. If it doesn't go down, I might consider changing her medication. Other than that, all seems to be normal." She held up a beige folder. "I'm just about to leave my report on the table before I leave."

"That's great news. Hey, listen, before you leave, there're some files that I left on the desk for you to look through. They're from previous cases. Read up on them, and we can do some discussion maybe tomorrow." He winked at her before he left.

She placed Sabine's folder in the cabinet. The office was neat, seemingly without a single piece of paper out of place. Even the waste paper basket was emptied for the day. She wondered if there was a specific person who did all the filing and organizing in the lab. Her reports were always placed in the right files the next day. She slipped her coat off and hung it up on the rack, then leaned over the desk to pick up the stack of files.

She scanned through the names, mentally reading through them. She had heard that many of these women volunteered to be impregnated. She wasn't sure if she thought them brave or merely foolish. Mice were one thing. Humans, on the other hand...it didn't sit right with her. These were two lives they were involving, not just one, and to have so many of them failed didn't seem right. Her eye caught sight of a name she recognized. She abruptly stopped, frowning at the label of a file that certainly did not fit the category of dead pregnant women.

James "Sawyer" Ford, it read.

She set the other files back down, holding the one with his name on it. They must have made a mistake. His name was in parentheses. He had never mentioned being in possession of another name.

She flipped the cover to find his picture and his details. He really was two years older than her, she saw. At first, she thought that it must be his resume, but some of the information didn't seem to mesh with what he had told her. She turned to the next page, curiosity an urge that she could not stifle, which was a tragedy because it appeared that what she was reading was an accusation against him.

Each page presented incriminating evidence that built an unarguable case against him, each a brick that weighed on her heart. The more she read, the tighter her chest felt until it became impossible to breathe. One sentence rolled into another, blurring into a black mess on the white sheets. The four walls that surrounded her suddenly felt suffocating. She let the file drop and stumbled out blindly, unable to see through the tears that had already started to fall.

Then she ran.

Where, she didn't know. She found herself in the brush, branches, thorns, and overgrown sharp-edged leaves cutting, stinging, pricking, and whipping, but she felt none of that. A wave of nausea swept over her, and she staggered to a tree, retching and heaving until there was nothing left.

Memories mocked her. She heard their voices in her head, laughing, and her legs gave way. She curled up into a fetal position on the cold, hard ground, shaking, and pressed her face to the soil, hands gripping dirt. Was she dying? Each breath she struggled to take caused an excruciating pain in her chest.

It felt so.

Contrary to popular belief, death wasn't quick. Death wasn't painless. It wasn't peaceful.

Death was hell.

When the sun had set, she was still breathing, but barely. She stumbled home in the dark, cuts stinging, muscles aching, but entirely numb within. The pain was gone.

Maybe death did come and get her. This was just an empty shell that had been left behind.

Such were the thoughts that ran through her mind as she stepped into the house and saw him pacing around, arms crossed, head bent.

She never prepared herself for the onset of hurt, fury, and bitterness that attacked her once again.

"Juliet!" He caught sight of her, and he rushed over, a mixture of relief, anger, and exasperation crossing his face at once. "What happened? I thought…" He didn't finish, taking in her disheveled look, the cuts on her arms, the standoffish way she held herself from him.

And the look in her eyes.

She saw him flinch as though burnt, and he looked away. That moment, she knew. The way his arms dropped limply to his sides, no longer trying to embrace her, sent the final blow to her heart, shattering it to fragments.

So it was true.

Any shred of hope that she had tried to grasp dissolved into thin air. There were no words to be said. She steeled her resolve, trying to salvage what was left of her heart and dignity, if there was any of that left.

And she walked away.

From behind a shuttered window, tarsier-like eyes watched within the darkness.


	8. Chapter 8

**Chapter 8**

It had been almost a week, and still she had not spoken to him sans one-word answers, and only if it had been absolutely necessary, such as when he had told her Ben called that morning, and she acknowledged him with a cool "Ok," or perhaps when he had asked her how her day had been, and all she would say was a stoic "Fine." Any further attempts to extend the conversation were met with a wall of dead silence. She responded to his jokes with a naught but a straight face and his apologetic glances with a blank one. After the first few days, he was running out of ideas on how to reach out to her. It was starting to seem like an impossible task.

So now, while she was slumbering at home, he was hanging out at Miles's house in the middle of the night, unable to sleep, chugging a couple of beers with the man.

"Have you tried to placate her? Buy her flowers?" Miles suggested. "Or, well, pick flowers, in this case, seeing as that we don't have any flower shops here."

"Think I haven't already tried that, Enos?"

"Oh, wait. I guess you have. You did pick those wildflowers that day, didn't you?" He raised his brows. "Guess it didn't work, La Fleur."

He wrinkled his nose. "I'm a ladies' man. I know the tricks. None of 'em are workin'. At least, not with her," he mumbled before taking a swig from his Dharma beer.

"So you're going to give up, just like that?"

"Don't get your hopes up," he said. "I ain't throwin' in the towel." He dropped the back of his head on the couch, his limbs splayed out, a picture of dejection. "But she won't even talk to me."

"The cold shoulder, huh. That's some bad shit, man."

Like he needed the reminder.

He didn't mention how desperate he had been the night before. The first of her experiments had failed. Sabine had died. He had wanted to comfort her. His palm pressed flat against her door, he had called to her, but had heard no response. The muffled heart wrenching sobs nearly tore him to pieces.

"Anyway," he turned his face away from the television that was airing a football match. "Thanks for the dinner. Been a while since I've had anythin' besides Goldfish crackers and Oreos."

"You're joking."

He grimaced. "You can't be thinkin' Juliet's still cookin' for me. Never had to sleep on the couch before, have you?"

"No," Miles replied slowly with unnecessary precision. "What I really meant was, can you not make a sandwich? Surely you don't need her to make all your meals for you. You'd starve if you had to depend on a woman for food. You're giving her the upper hand."

He finished his beer, not bothering to mention that she already had the upper hand. "I ain't got use for cookin'."

"Not till now," Miles said wryly. "Well. Hell hath no fury like a woman scorned," he quoted sagaciously. "Consider it a belated birthday gift, man. Tomorrow, we get to go out on a joyride in the van. I hope you still remember we're bringing the scientists out to get supplies. They're looking for some kind of plant. Goodwin thinks it has some medicinal value and all that intellectual jabberish."

"Son of a bitch. I totally forgot." He ground his teeth in frustration. "He better keep his damn hands to himself tomorrow, or I'll do it for him."

"I told you, the chick's like a guy magnet. Didn't you know Ben invited her for dinner again last night?"

The sound he uttered resembled something like a cross between a squeak and a choke. How had he not known that?

Of course, he and Juliet hadn't been on speaking terms for a while.

At least, she hadn't.

"Haven't you heard the rumour? Everyone sees how Ben follows her like a little puppy."

"Well, I've been busy, Pokemon Boy," He snapped. "In case you haven't noticed."

"I did gather that there was a communication breakdown from our conversation," Miles replied, unperturbed by his ruffled feathers. "Keep your pants on. It's just a rumour."

"Ain't no smoke without a fire," he muttered. Hopefully, tomorrow would proceed without a hitch, but Mr. I-Look-So-Good-I-Win-At-Life would make things difficult for him. He glowered at the thought of that man riding with them.

He was going to need Miles to remind him that patience was a virtue.

Or better yet, bind him hand and foot. He was gonna need that rope.

Needless to say, the trip was rough, and filled with bumps in the road, in more ways than one. The minute Juliet and Goodwin clambered to the back, the atmosphere became so tense, he could've cut it with a knife.

In the driver's seat, Miles whistled the theme from Friends, tapping his fingers to the beat on the wheel. "Nice day, isn't it?"

The lack of answers was an answer in itself, and he had the good sense not to try harder.

He saw Goodwin grin at her in the rearview mirror, and when she returned it, he gripped the edge of his seat, nearly shredding the polyester.

"Patience, cowboy, patience," Miles whispered his support from under his breath, just loud enough for him to hear over the engine. "Don't lose it now."

Thankfully, they survived the trip there without any shedding of blood. Barely, because it was almost brutal sitting up front, witnessing Goodwin try to make small talk, also known as deploying his flirting tactics, with Juliet, whom didn't seem to be in a sociable mood. That was a small comfort to him.

As they unloaded from the van, Miles looked about the surroundings for a moment. "We'll try to cover as much area as we can in the shortest amount of time. That way, we don't have to spend too long out here." He turned back to them. "Sawyer, you and Juliet go down that way till you reach the—"

"I'll go with you, Miles," she interrupted before he could finish.

Miles shot him an apologetic glance, then shrugged. "Sure."

He stared at his partner dismally. Oh, joy. Not only did the possible opportunity of reconciliation with Juliet just sprout wings and fly, but he also had to spend time alone with this joker. He trudged off into the trees with Goodwin, getting a sense of dread that things were definitely not going to end well.

Of course, he had been determined to keep his mouth shut the entire time. Turned out the problem was that Mr. I-Love-To-Hear-Myself-Talk didn't.

"Had a tiff, huh." Goodwin's smile seemed more like a sneer. "A little conflict of interest?"

He gritted his teeth and reminded himself to just keep trampling the grass, but he wished he were trampling something else instead.

The man didn't get the hint from the blatantly one-sided conversation. He had no discernment at all, because he could not judge that the atmosphere was not the best for the pointed comments that he kept shooting from his damn mouth.

Or maybe he just enjoyed trying to push him over the edge.

"I have to admit, though, you two put up a good show. It's probably the best that she knows the truth. No point building a relationship on lies," Goodwin let out a sigh which grated on his nerves. Turning his head towards him, his lips formed a little smirk. "But really, she's a doll. Think I'll be able to have a turn with her?"

Before his mind registered what he was doing, his fist had connected with flesh in a satisfying thud, and all he was seeing was red. He wasn't sure which was the comment that threw him over the edge. Rage flowed through him, washing over the guilt and frustration that had tormented him the last couple of days.

It felt good to get it out of his system.

He fell on the man, and losing balance, they rolled onto the dirt. "Son of a bitch! It was you, wasn't it? You showed her the damn file. You were the bastard! What did you tell her?" He took a hit to the abdomen, but it only refueled the fire that burned through his veins. He went at him again until Goodwin flipped him over, knocking the air out of him. The physical pain stunted his anger for a second as he lay on the ground, trying to catch his breath.

The man spat blood on the ground. "I didn't do it, country boy. Don't come blaming me just because you can't keep a leash on your bitch."

Anger flared like a forest fire fanned by high winds. He pushed himself up off the ground, and like two stray dogs first encountering each other in the wilderness, they fought in abandonment, kicking, swinging, and punching.

Then, through the haze of fading red, he heard her call his name.

For the first time.

As the adrenaline wore off, he finally looked up, breathing heavily, and saw her staring before she turned her back on him.

Damn him if he was going to let her walk away just like that.

He ran after her, calling her name until he had caught up with her. When he grabbed her arm, she pulled away as if stung, placing distance between them.

Her eyes were dead, devoid of expression.

Unrecognizable.

"Juliet—"

"You can stop pretending now, James." Her voice was chilly. "Congratulations. You must be so proud of your conquest."

The lack of emotion sliced through him, hurting more than if her eyes had burned with fury and hatred. He looked down at the ground littered with fallen leaves and felt blood trickling down from a cut above his brow. "Juliet, I…"

_I what? I'm sorry?_

Should he apologize? Should he explain? Where should he even start?

From when he had decided to con the first woman? Or right from the beginning when he had hid under the bed, watching his dad shoot his mom?

Would she believe him if he told her that he no longer had intentions to hurt her?

The thoughts swarmed him, clouding his mind. He tried to grasp her hand, hoping that maybe she'd let him, but she stumbled back a step, away from him.

"Don't. Just…"

He saw the entire façade beginning to crumble as her eyes, filling with tears, lost their steely look.

She was turning out to be like him, learning to put on a show.

He felt the realization spear directly into his conscience.

"You know, James." The detached way she said his name made him blanch. "I used to think that there was still good in the world. I thought I could still believe the best in people." She pressed her lips together, looking away into the distance. "I was naïve. Focus on the positive things, and I'd be alright," she mocked her own words. The short laugh that she made bordered on self-disgust and derision. "Stupid, isn't it? Thinking if you treat people well, they would do the same to you." She blinked back the tears that had formed, shimmering in her eyes. "Rachel used to tell me that people would take advantage of it, and she was right. I was like a dumb sheep."

And she believed he was a wolf.

"I'm done, James. I've had enough of people stepping on me and lying to me." Her words, arrows laden with hurt and anger, struck him to the core. "What if …what if, for once, I get to be the one to do that?"

The tears that she could no longer hold back carved a fissure on his heart. "It don't work that way," he rasped out.

"It did for you."

His brows lowered. Was there really no way to reach her? He held on to her gaze like a lifeline. "Why are you doin' this, Juliet?"

"Because." The break in her voice betrayed her emotions. "If I don't…" She faltered, lips trembling.

She could put on a front as an emotionless warrior, mask all the thoughts she wanted, try to place shutters on the windows to her heart and soul, but she would never be like the man that he had been. All the facades in the world would never change who she was. Her heart was what made her the woman that he loved.

And now because of what he did, she was trying to be like him.

"It ain't worth it," he stated, all the while trying to convince himself it was true. "I've used people. I ain't proud of it." Guilt pounced on him with glee. He had caused this agony. He had led her down this path. He felt his throat tighten, and he forced the words out. "Don't learn from me."

The gentle breeze dissipated into the thick of the woods. The trees ceased their rustling. Her tear-stained face gazed back at him, and she answered, voice thick with emotion, "I already have."

It stung, like salt in an open wound.

He took a step towards her with beseeching eyes, begging her to let him help, to soothe her hurt.

And she backed away. "Just…stay away from me, James," she began brokenly. "Please."

Her face crumpled. When she vanished into the thicket, leaving a trail of stifled cries, he thought he had never felt more wretched in his life.

* * *

_His low bass filled the little kitchen area as they slow-danced in the midst of dinner preparations. She laid her head on his shoulder, smiling to herself as he gently rocked her to and fro, the lyrics running through her mind as he hummed one of their favourite songs. _

_I don't like to sleep alone  
Stay with me, don't go  
Talk with me for just a while  
So much of you to get to know _

_Reaching out touching you  
Leaving all the worries far behind  
Loving you the way I do  
My mouth on yours and yours on mine  
Marry me, let me live with you  
Nothing's wrong and love is right_

_The soothing sounds stopped suddenly. "Juliet?"_

"_Hm?" She murmured, smoothing her thumb against the fabric of his white tee. _

_She felt him rest his cheek against her head. His voice was hesitant. "If one day, you realize I ain't the person you think I am…" Here, he paused for a long time. "You'll still love me, won't ya?"_

_She stilled his rocking, gaze flitting up to meet his. His eyes were filled with uncertainty and a yearning, a hope that she would respond with what he wished to hear, much like a child eager to earn approval. She thought of all the sleepless nights that he had spent staying awake to chase her nightmares away, the times she had looked for comfort and he was right there, how he had dug her out of the rut she'd been in, and how many times her heart had swelled with love for the man holding her in his arms, so much that she had been unable to speak. She tenderly cupped his face with her hands and caressed his skin._

_How could he even consider a question of that nature?_

_She kissed him, a quiver running through her at the softness of his lips, easing his doubts like how he had eased her pain that first night. Were not their lips shaped perfectly for each other? She broke away, her eyes clearly telling him that she had already determined her answer._

_She thought she saw something misting over his eyes. He smiled at her, the insecurity having been chased away. He drew her closer to him, enfolding her in his arms, as he led her into the slow dance again._

"_I love you, Juliet."_

_Her heart sang. _

_I love you too._

* * *

Was it not just that? All the days of ignoring him, the cold shoulder, wasn't it all a mere act? She thought that by wearing a mask, by learning how not to wear her heart on her sleeve, she could protect herself from getting hurt. She was only building those walls around her heart to keep herself safe.

He had seen through all of that.

She stood before the dresser as the minutes ticked by, willing the tears not to well up in her eyes, clenching her teeth together till her jaw hurt because that was the only way to prevent the sobs from escaping. She glanced in the mirror, and saw the tears gather and roll down her face, one by one.

And she was surprised to find herself crying.

Was it not possible for one to run out of tears?

He had said she shouldn't learn from him, but why shouldn't she? When all throughout her life, she had felt each and every stinging lash of the whip inflicted on her heart, surely she would wonder if there would be a day when she knew just how to shield herself from the pain.

She pulled a tissue from the box on the dresser, erasing the physical evidence of her pain.

The words she had spoken to him earlier, she had not planned to say them. She had only thought them. Out in the open, they seemed naked and raw. She had seen how they struck him like blows, landing with greater impact than the punches he had gotten from the scrape with Goodwin.

He had chased after her, battered and bleeding.

Broken. Contrite. Utterly downtrodden.

She had almost wanted to give in, but the not-so-subtle reminder of her own pain exceeded any intentions to forgive him. She had not forgotten how it felt like to have him take her heart and stomp on it without a second thought.

Maybe he had changed. After all, wasn't that what people did best?

She dropped the used tissue into the bin. But did she dare get her hopes up again? Every time she expected something from someone, all she stood to gain was disappointment.

Through the unblemished glass of the window, she saw him, sitting at one of the wooden tables in their community, illuminated by the moonlight. Her breath hitched.

He truly was beautiful.

She thought she had become an emotionless soul. She'd cried so much that it felt like all the tears had left just emptiness in her chest, a hole where her heart used to be. For the past few nights, she had stayed up late, wondering if it was all worth it.

She watched as he leaned his head wearily on hands that must be aching, and she knew the answer to the question that had been haunting her. She felt it as she stroked his face through the cool glass, yearning to tend to his cuts and bruises.

No matter how much hurt her heart had withstood, no matter how feeble the pulse was, it still beat for him.


	9. Chapter 9

**Chapter 9**

Douchebag Island. That was the nickname of the day, his knighting of the island. The day had barely started, and already it was going downhill. Pickett seemed to be even more ornery than usual, which ought to be an impossible occurrence. He had obtained an instant dislike for the man who had showed no ounce of friendliness from the moment he had met him. The man had a disagreeable quality about him that rubbed him the wrong way.

"What's got your panties in a knot, Danny boy," he muttered before struggling to push the boat from the shore. He wasn't in a particularly good mood either. Why did Tom have to drop out at the last minute?

"You disobeyin' orders, newbie?" The man who lacked stature stalked forward, scowling at him threateningly.

"No, but I could use a little help out here," he shot back.

Pickett shoved him against the boat. "Don't give me that attitude. Can't even push a boat out to sea. What kind of weakling are you. You and that Juliet of yours, we wasted money getting both of you on this island." The more he ranted, the more he got riled up, and the louder his voice became. He did nothing, half-irritated, half-amused until Juliet was pulled into the mix. "Your woman couldn't save Sabine. She can't save anybody, and now my wife's gonna die because of her!"

"What the hell are you talkin' about?" His eyes flashed at the unfounded accusation. "Your wife got pregnant 'cause of you, so don't you go blamin' Juliet for somethin' she didn't do."

Eyes narrowed, Pickett gripped the front of his shirt menacingly. "You making fun of me, son?"

He stood his ground, unflinching. "I ain't your son."

The force of the fist that came flying in his face caused him to stumble onto the sand. He could taste the blood in his mouth and mentally sighed. At least Juliet wasn't here to witness this one today. Two fights in two consecutive days. He was gaining quite a record.

His thoughts ended there when Pickett dragged him up and landed one in his abdomen, which still throbbed from yesterday. As he doubled over, he wondered if it was worth it not to fight back. Out of the corner of his eye, in his pain-edged vision, he saw Picket pull the gun from his back.

It was worth not fighting back if it only resulted in a couple of bruises, but it certainly wasn't worth it to sustain a gunshot wound and risk losing his life.

He swung and felt his fist hit a target. The gun flew out of their reach somewhere by the bushes. The man who was now beyond reason and driven by anger, swore and dealt him with another punch, which he managed to block, but failed to see the other one coming at him.

As he lay on the sand, gasping and trying to clear the fog in his head, he saw Pickett draw a knife from his pocket and headed to his unmoving form. Then, two loud, ear-blasting bangs sounded in the air, and the man collapsed to the ground, blood from two gunshot wounds to the chest staining the light-coloured shirt.

His ears rang. He lifted his head, warily scanning the edge of the woods, and saw terrified blue eyes staring back at him before they vanished.

He found her huddled, back against a tree as though trying to melt into the trunk, hugging her arms to herself, hiding her hands. It triggered the memory of when she had sat in silence opposite him during their first dinner, trying to hide the bruises that Edmund had given her when he had unintentionally found out about them. He jogged the last couple of steps and fell to his knees before her. She stared at him without speaking, eyes wide with fear and the realization that she had just shot a man.

He grasped her arms, noticing a long, angry scratch on her forearm. "Juliet?"

She didn't respond. He doubted that she had even heard him in her shell-shocked state.

He knew. The first time he killed a man, he knew how it felt. He shook her gently. "Juliet? It's me."

Her eyes, though still displaying terror, gradually focused on him. He desperately hoped that meant she had the clarity of mind to understand him. "James?"

"It's okay," he softened his voice, almost as though coaxing a frightened animal. "It's gonna be okay, alright?"

"I…" He strained to hear her words. "I was going to look for you." There was a tremor in her voice, and he drew her to his chest, stroking her hair. "I saw…" She trailed off, and her mouth quivered.

He made shushing noises. "It's okay. It's gonna be all right," he soothed. "It's okay. I'm here, baby. I got ya." He felt her trembles slowly cease.

Then, from somewhere deep in the woods, there emerged a low, rumbling noise, rapidly gaining volume. His muscles tensed. Whatever it was, it could not be good. It grew louder, sounding strangely familiar and as though it was coming from above. He looked up and what he did not expect to see was a helicopter with its blades spinning.

He furrowed his brow. What was the aircraft doing on the island? All along, he had thought the only way to travel was by sub and only with authorization.

He shook his head, clearing his mind for more important thoughts. There were only two things he was sure of at the moment. Number one, they couldn't go back. He had heard the stories of what had happened to those who had broken the rules, and he was not willing to risk it if they found out who had shot Pickett. Number two, they had to get off this island, and fast.

An idea started to hatch in his head. He brushed his lips gently against her forehead and whispered, "Stay here, okay? I'll be right back." He felt her cling onto him tighter, as though panicked at the thought of him leaving. He rocked her gently. "I ain't gonna go far, sweetheart. I'll be right back. We're gonna get off this island. I'm gonna get you outta here." He pulled away and gazed down at her. "Trust me."

She searched his eyes, and he watched as the fear subsided for the moment, and she nodded.

"You hear anythin', anythin' at all," he emphasized. "You run the other way, okay? Anyone asks, you don't know anythin', got me?" Receiving another silent nod, he planted a rough kiss on the top of her head. Before he vanished into the trees, he turned back just to make sure she was still there before he took off.

Back at the barracks, he did a quick observation, making certain that no one was watching, which was a relatively easy task as up front they were distracted by the commotion caused by the apparently uninvited flying machine. He slipped into their house, driven by a sense of urgency. Time was the greatest determining factor at the moment. He barged in and out of rooms, gathering supplies that he thought they might need. He shoved the first-aid kit into one of the backpacks with a couple of blankets, torches, and clothes. In another, he threw in a handful of granola bars, crackers, bottled water, cans of food together with a can-opener, and as an afterthought, dumped a beer bottle in there too. After all, why not? Life was short.

Hopefully, they would manage to finagle a way to get off the island before their supplies ran out.

"Sawyer."

He whirled around, his heart jumping, afraid that he had been caught.

Miles stood in the living room, an astonished look on his face. He slammed the door shut before turning back to him. "What the _hell_ is going on?" He looked at the bags that hung on his shoulders and hand. "And what the hell are you doing? We need you out there. Ben's calling for a meeting, and we can't get Danny. Everyone's in a panic." He gave the place a cursory glance. "Where's Juliet?"

His breath hissed through his teeth. They haven't found out yet.

"Listen, Miles," he started, torn between telling the man who had become his friend the truth or a lie. He did neither. "I ain't got time right now. I just…" Words failed him. "I gotta go." He zipped up the bag he was holding, and passing the man who gazed at him in disbelief, he clapped his shoulder. "Thanks for everythin', buddy." He gave him a lopsided smile before he disappeared out the door.

* * *

She hadn't moved from where he had left her, and for that, he was thankful. He ducked under a low-hanging branch, feet crunching the dried leaves and twigs on the ground. Her head jerked up, startled, at the sound of someone's approach. At the sight of him, the distress on her face melted into relief.

"Comfy?" He teased gently, testing the waters.

"Not quite, but at least this tree hasn't fallen on me yet with all the ruckus you were making."

At that, the tenseness he had retained from his short trip to the Barracks dissipated, and he chuckled. If she was up to making comments tinted with humour, then she must be feeling better.

"I had some time to think. I ran in the moment of panic. I shouldn't have had." She broke eye contact. That should have been a warning sign, but it rang no bells in his head. Her gaze drifted to the bags he was unloading from his back. "What are those?"

"Supplies," he answered, crouching down by her on one knee. "We ain't goin' back to the barracks, Juliet. We're gonna get off this island."

The expression she wore told him that she had a little trouble comprehending his meaning. "How?"

Now that was the million-dollar question. He wasn't even sure if his plan was going to work. It was build out of sticks at the moment, susceptible to toppling if the wind of circumstances came blowing by. "I don't know yet," he admitted. "But—"

"I killed a man, James."

Eyes clouded with torment met his, and the sudden reappearance of dread unsettled his stomach. He stood up with a deep troubled frown, turning away from her. He had a feeling he knew where the conversation was going, and he didn't like it.

"I killed a man," she repeated, voice gaining strength. "I have to go back."

He slowly sucked air through his teeth, hands planted on his hips, buying time. He swore she had no sense of self-preservation. When it came to stubbornness, she definitely inherited that trait from either one of her parents. He, however, also had received more than a healthy dosage of it. He wasn't about to let her go back to offer herself as a sacrifice. "You heard the stories, Juliet. The trials and the punishments," he said with as much patience as he could muster.

"I know."

"And you still want to go back."

If he judged correctly by the way she stared at him, she was not going to change her mind. He looked away, shaking his head. Couldn't she see that if she suffered, he would be suffering along with her? He wasn't running away for himself this time. He was doing it for her.

At a sudden surge of anger, he kicked out at the soil in frustration, sending dirt and pebbles flying.

"James. Don't."

He turned, the tortured look that she wore reflected in his eyes. "Why?"

She looked down at her hands, tightly locked together, unrelenting. "Kharma. If you cause an action, you have to face the consequences," she went on in a tone so lacking of interest one might have thought she was reciting a grocery list. "James, I'm going back because I have to." It might sound like it meant nothing to her, but the look in her eyes told him she wanted his assurance, _needed_ his assurance that she was doing the right thing.

He would do almost anything for her, walk through fire, face floods and risk being swept away, but not this. How could he watch her accept her fate to be punished when the only crime she had committed was to protect him? Could she not see what it would do to him if she went back?

"And what about me?" The words came spilling forth. "What do you think is gonna happen to me if they do what they do to you, Juliet?" He let her chew on the thought for a second and huddled back down beside her. "It's not just you now, sweetheart. It's you, and me." He slid his fingers in her hair, cupping her face with a hand. "And Rachel? Have you thought about what's going to happen to her if you go back?"

Something flickered in her eyes. He recognized doubt and took it as a sign of hope. He laid his hand on hers, curling his fingers around hers, urging her to follow him. To trust him and let him lead. God willing, he would keep her safe. "Leave with me," he whispered hoarsely. "Leave with me, Juliet. Let's go home."

_Home._

He saw the word with all its comforting connotations register in her eyes, and he knew he had won her over.

As they began their trek into the woods, he tried to calculate the amount of daylight they had left. They had about another two to three hours before the sun would begin its descent. Heading back to the Barracks had taken up more time that he had expected. He didn't wish to risk going back to the boat in case they had already found Pickett's body. Their greatest chance of not getting caught was to head deeper into the island, staying away from where the cameras were. Everything else could be decided later.

They camped for the night under the canopy of trees. For the most part, he was unable to sleep, racking his brain, hoping that a miraculous way of escape would just tumble down from heaven into his head. He drifted in and out of consciousness. The memory of the aircraft he had seen this morning surfaced, and he wondered if they could somehow get their hands on it. He mentally reprimanded himself for not having asked Miles more about it, having been in too much of a hurry. Maybe whoever it was in that helicopter could get them off the island.

A restless sigh by his side distracted him from his thoughts. Concern flooded his face as he leaned over her, running his hand over her warm forehead. It hadn't been a good night for both of them, but more so for her in particular, and he had a notion why. If he were to be honest, the future did not look all that bright in front of them. It was going to be a tough climb.

Something metallic rang in the woods. His ears pricked up, identifying a sound that certainly did not belong to the forest life. He turned his head, narrowing his eyes. In the distance, approaching from the direction they had come from, a bright light was heading towards them at a rapid speed. Within mere seconds, it seemed more like day than night.

"Juliet," he said in a low voice, nerves on edge, as the noise increased in intensity, sounding as though it was rising from somewhere deep within the island. It had become uncomfortably bright. Her eyes fluttered open, then, she squinted, confused for a moment as she tried to get her bearings. They had literally no time to exchange words. Covering their faces from the painfully blinding light, they shielded themselves from the intrusion, as the whole world finally exploded in light and sound.

* * *

_For a weekday, the place is filled with a surprisingly good amount of people. It is not impressively large or particularly high-end. The air is a tad stale, the premises lit with dim, coloured lights. Round, silver tables and chairs crowd the main part of the area. Somewhere behind the stage, the smoke machine is going on full blast while the live band rocks out country music, the lead singer churning out lyrics about a bar room brawl. She perches on one of the shiny stools with its polished red seats at the bar, legs crossed._

"_Hey, lady, what can I get for you?"_

_She looks up at the young bartender with the sparkling eyes. "Alabama Slammer. Without the gin, please." _

_He turns to his collection of alcohol lined up on the rack behind him and reaches for the tall bottle of Southern Comfort. "Thinking of the beach, huh," he comments with a grin._

_She watches with partial interest as he fixed her cocktail, mixing the liquors with orange juice. He drops a tiny tropical blue umbrella in her drink._

"_Just for you," he winks at her._

_She smiles at him as he leaves to service another customer. She lifts the mouth of the glass to her lips, taking a sip, letting the bittersweet taste run rampant in her mouth. It has been a while. _

_The sweet, mellow strumming of the guitar tells her someone is back on stage. _

"_Evenin', ladies and gentlemen. Hope y'all are havin' a good night." A male voice with a blatantly southern twang introduces himself, and receives a smatter of applause, complete with a couple of random voices yelling out approval. When it dies down, he begins singing with a gorgeous country voice that girls would fall head over heels with._

"_He's good," the bartender remarks after having served up another beverage, wiping his hands on a thick, white cloth. "He comes to perform every week, and they love him." _

_She has no doubt. She takes another sip and turns her head to check out the one who has apparently gathered quite a following of fans. _

_He has on ragged jeans in faded blue and a white tee with a plaid shirt half buttoned. She pegs him as a heartbreaker with his dirty blond hair and strong, clean-cut features, his dimples giving him a rather carefree air. She watches him sing, handling the acoustic guitar like they've been partners since young. _

_He raises his head, and as his gaze wanders about the room, he catches her eye. She feels her heart skip. His lips turn up at the corners. All of a sudden, it feels hard to breathe. Everything becomes very still, and it is just him and her. _

"_I had to find out who I am," he sings. "And I'm a lonely boy that wants to be your man, and if you take me back, we'll show 'em what they don't know." He doesn't miss a beat, not breaking eye contact with her. His deep, husky voice captivates her, and he holds her gaze without breaking a sweat, it seems. "And they don't know you. They don't breathe you. They don't wake up in the middle of the night and call your name. They're not lonely, they're not dyin', They don't miss you honey, but I do." _

_Her heart, against her will, has lodged itself in her throat. It is silly, but it feels like he is serenading her, the way he has angled himself in her direction, the sole receiver of such attention. The moment the song ends, he stands from his stool, receiving the applause, and takes his much-deserved bows. She returns to her drink, fiddling with the short, yellow straw when she hears that drawl next to her. _

"_Can I buy you another drink, Blondie?"_

_A tiny smile tugs at her lips. Deep-set eyes smile back at her, an open invitation. _

"_Is this how you pick up the ladies around here?" She responds in a tone that can only be described as enticing. _

_Leaning against the counter, he settles his chin on his hand and says, "I don't know, sweetheart. Why don't you tell me?" She notices his gaze travelling down to the hemline of her dress to her legs before flicking up to her eyes again and merely gives him an enigmatic glance from under her lashes._

_In the little motel room with the queen-sized bed, they can't shed their clothes fast enough. She doesn't know who made the first move. They sort of reach for each other at the same time, grasping, mouths colliding, urgently searching and seeking, rubbing against each other, tongues clashing and mating. Hands roam, exploring bodies, they clutch at the heads of thick, silky hair. Skin against skin, hot and burning, pushing and sliding against each other. A wanton need, a desperation for the other. _

_It is driven by passion, unlike that first time in where gentleness seemed to be his first priority. His instinctive awareness of knowing what is pleasurable to her, however, hasn't changed. He brings her to oblivion again and again._

_They don't talk much. She rests her head on his shoulder, one arm around his chest, listening to the steady rhythm of his breath, an indication that he has fallen into slumber. She tenderly touches the side of his face, the familiar roughness of his stubble against her skin, and an influx of memories floods into the long-dried out riverbed. She shuts her eyes, not even trying to hold them at bay. She presses her lips to his bare shoulder, reveling in the feel of his skin, of his closeness. "I'm sorry," she whispers though she knows he hears her not. She brushes her cheek against him, wishing they can stay that way forever, but she knows it is but a distant dream. Rolling over, she gets up, pulling her clothes together and throwing them on. The little note that she has left on the bedside drawer should provide enough information for him. With one last longing look at his sleeping form, she turns away, chest tightening, and heads out the door, quietly shutting it behind her. _

* * *

_The nightmares never fail to emerge from the shadows when the darkness descends. She dreads it. Every morning, she awakens, pale and shaken from the memories. Dark circles have become a commodity for the past year. Not a day passes by when she is not constantly and acutely aware of the hands of the clock slowly making their routine cycle, marking the end of yet another day. _

_She turns on the CD player and skips to the last song on the disc. It has become the theme song of her life. As the sound of a train travelling through the tunnel begins to play, she walks to the dresser. _

_She can get used to this, this waking up and performing all that society requires, all that is needed for survival. After all, for a long time, she has already regarded herself to be nothing more than a breathing corpse. Breathing does not qualify one to life, only survival. Medically speaking, as long as the heart is still beating, and the person is still breathing, it means life. She begs to differ. _

_Life is but a distant memory. _

_I hurt myself today  
To see if I still feel  
I focus on the pain  
The only thing that's real  
The needle tears a hole  
The old familiar sting  
Try to kill it all away  
But I remember everything_

_She let the words swirl in her head, letting it fill her as her scarred heart beats in time with the music. Strange how the feelings she is so explicitly unable to express can be so succinctly sung. She stares in the mirror, and the creature that stares back is a caged animal, just waiting for the right moment to escape and wreck havoc on those who has ensnared her. Everyone knows if you corner an animal, and it believes it has no way out, it's not going to end well. _

_She stares harder at her reflection, trying to find fragments of her that she can recognize._

_I wear this crown of shit  
Upon my liar's chair  
Full of broken thoughts  
I cannot repair  
Beneath the stains of time  
The feelings disappear  
You are someone else  
I am still right here  
_

_On the little chair by the dresser, she holds the hairbrush in her hand in a grip that is much too tight, and with robotic motions, draws it down her golden tresses. The bristles scrape against her scalp with strokes that are unusually rough, but she welcomes the pain, a breath of fresh air from the endless bleeding from within. It reminds her that she is still alive. _

_What have I become?  
My sweetest friend  
Everyone I know  
Goes away in the end_

_She sets the brush down gently on the dresser, almost disappointed that it didn't draw blood. Truly unfortunate. She pats some of the foundation powder on her face in an attempt to cover up the dark eye rings. Then, she reaches for the blusher to infuse some colour to her skin. _

_There. Now her mask is in place._

_You could have it all  
My empire of dirt  
I will let you down  
I will make you hurt  
If I could start again  
A million miles away  
I would keep myself  
I would find a way_

_Fate has played a cruel trick on her. For months she has searched for him, and now that she has finally found him, he is not the person that she once knew. He still wears that same tugging-at-heartstrings smile, the same confident attitude, and the same intense eyes. It is him, but it isn't. His touch drove her crazy, but the tenderness that she recalls as such a vital part of him is lacking. It is as though someone has stolen his identity and is masquerading as the man she loves. Last night is substantial proof for her. She saw no flicker of recognition. There is the strong pull of attraction, but nothing to indicate that he remembers once having loved her. _

_The sounds of laughter echo in her head, and there is a throb in her chest. _

_What is that she is feeling? For so long, her days have been built on anger and pain, the only emotions that propel her forward, that to have this feeling appearing out of the self-imposed numbness strikes her as strangely odd. She has had enough of playing damsel in distress. For years she has waited for her knight in shining armor to arrive, only to be robbed of him. She thinks it is time she learns to stand up for herself. _

_She finishes dressing and studies her reflection with a critical eye. It will do. She looks just like the others. She makes toast and slathers peanut butter on it. Then, she pours the brewed coffee into her travel mug, adding just the right amount of cream and sugar. She doesn't take to beverages that are laden with too much sweetness. It is something he has once known. She doesn't think he has any recollection of it anymore. _

_She takes her breakfast to her car and drives off to the hospital. She endures the daily traffic jam that occurs every weekday, taking the time to nibble on her toast. At the five-storied building where she works, she dumps the half-eaten bread into the trashcan, deciding she only wants her coffee with her in the office. On her way there, she bumps into a familiar face._

_Christian Shephard. _

_He is much talked about by both the doctors and the nurses, the cream of the crop. He is known for his work and his distinguished features. _

"_Doctor," he greets her in a good-natured tone._

_She smiles. "Doctor."_

"_So, you coming to this party tonight with the rest of us?"_

_She pauses outside her door. "I'm sorry, Doctor Shephard. I've already got plans for tonight."_

"_Christian," he tells her, and she obliges him. He engages her in a minute or two of small talk, and as soon as he saunters off, she escapes into her office. Within the confines and privacy of her own space, she settles into her comfy chair. Resting her elbows on the dull grey table, she rubs her temples in little circles. _

"_Ready for the biggest con of our lives, sweetheart?" His voice rings in her head, as clear as though it happened just the day before. "We shed who we are, and we become new people. I'm a cop, and you be a baby doctor. Sounds good?"_

_She was reluctant, the death of Sabine still fresh in her mind. She was afraid it was contagious, that if she tried to help any other women, she would fail them. He didn't tell her she was being absurd or illogical. He just held her and told her he believed in her. She would never forget how his eyes shone with pride the first time she successfully delivered a baby. That night, he told her they should try for one of their own. _

_It was then when she told him._

_Her mobile phone vibrates. She blinks and glances at it as though wondering why the device is ringing. She normally turns it off the moment she gets to the hospital. She picks it up._

"_Juliet Carlson," she answers._

"_Just checking in on you."_

_Those few words turn the warm feelings that blossomed earlier into dead, withered petals. She falls into silence._

"_How did it go?"_

_She is reluctant to release any sort of information. Every fiber of her being fights against giving him what he wants. After all, when one is coerced into an action, how can you expect them to be perform willingly? _

"_I told you he wouldn't remember."_

_There is no smugness in the tone, just a sense of…nothingness. There is no emotion in his words. The lump grows in her throat. He mentioned that, but silly of her, she still hoped. Somewhere inside her, a tiny part believed that when he saw her, he would somehow remember her. Isn't that what happens in the movies? How is it possible that all their memories can just vanish like smoke? Is that all what they are worth? _

_It is a pill she cannot swallow. _

"_Just do what you have to, Juliet. Get the information." His tone turns impatient. He is short with her. "Do it, and you can have your family back." He talks as though she is a child unable to understand simple instructions. _

_Only he would think it an easy assignment. _

_Three years ago, she never thought she would be capable of manipulation, but now she is learning how to play the game. Is it not said that desperation drives a person to commit unthinkable deeds? She won't hurt him, she tells herself. All that is required of her is a sliver of information that she needs to extract from him. _

_She miscalculated and overestimated herself. She made careful plans, but nothing prepared her for the very moment she saw him, the first time after almost a year. She did well enough in masking her emotions, yet watching him sleep, despite knowing he isn't the man she fell in love with anymore, she knows she is incapable of carrying out her purpose without her heart breaking again. Destiny seems hell-bent on making her to be the heroine from Shakespeare's tragedy._

_She shakes these thoughts free from her mind and focuses on the task at hand. "I want to see her," she says in a toneless voice._

"_You know I can't let you do that, Juliet."_

_She has sworn she will not cry, not until the crisis from hell is over, but destiny constantly threatens to break her will. And why shouldn't she risk revealing her desperation? He already knows where her weak points are. He knows which buttons to push, and he knows what makes her react even if she tries to hide it. That's what he does best. He finds out what a person is emotionally invested in, and he exploits it. Though she still doesn't want to give him any satisfaction from knowing how much in despair she really is, she swallows her pride, the lump in her throat, and utters a single-worded plea._

_When there is a long pause, accompanied only by the constant static, she prays that by some miracle, some change of heart, he will relent. _

"_I'm sorry," she hears him say, then, he is there no more. _

_No one is there. Only her, and the single thought pounding in her head that she hates him, for causing her torment, for destroying her life, and for manipulating her into doing his will._

_And she hates him for making her like him._

* * *

_His eyes flits open. For a second, he wonders what he is doing in this strange place. As the memory of last night filters in, a grin spreads across his face. He turns to her side of the bed, burying his face in her pillow, and inhales deeply. It smells faintly of citrus. He wonders why the scent brings about a feeling of déjà vu, and though he tries, he cannot recall why. Some say déjà vu is caused by the mind believing a particular event has already occurred, and when a certain sensory signal is given, a signal that so happens to be the same as the one in that event, the mind tries to re-create the same situation. He wonders if he has unknowingly met her before._

_He rolls to a sitting position, one thorough gaze around the room confirming his suspicions that she has already left. He hugs the pillow to him, almost wishing that she is still present. Then, he spots the yellow piece of paper with words written on it placed on the little cabinet by the bed, and his heart gives a leap. He snatches it up. On it, in neat cursive handwriting, is printed her name and her number. _

"_Juliet," he says aloud. Then he says it again, liking how her name sounds on his tongue, the way it rolls off as though he is used to speaking it. He holds the note in his hand like it is his claim to fame, and a smile plays across his face._

_He will call her tonight. _


	10. Chapter 10

**Chapter 10**

The air was heavy with humidity. The once playful, swaying boughs of the trees now remained deathly still without the provocation of the wind. The sky was an ominous grey, and as if to prove its point, it gave a warning rumble. If it stormed tonight, which it would, the downpour was sure to last the entire night.

Those horrid flashes that made him feel like his head was splitting into two had finally ceased. When the last one was over, he saw that her nose was bleeding. With a troubled frown, he had told her that maybe they ought to take a rest. He didn't want to obsess over a bloody nose, but in the face of all the unexplainable events, he didn't wish to take a chance. Everything appeared to be without change, looking as it did before, but he was a firm believer in nothing ever happening without a reason. He only hoped that once they hit the other side of the island, he'd have come up with a better idea. His original plan was to put as much distance in between them and the barracks, but at the moment, they would have to find shelter.

She came to a stop beside him and joined him in gazing up at the darkening sky, which didn't look too promising. "We should stop for the night," he said. Even the critters in the woods had fallen silent, probably hiding from the impending storm. The unnatural silence made him feel like they were entirely alone. Within a few minutes of keeping a lookout, they found a spot where the full branches of two thick shrubs had formed an arch, providing the perfect covering against the oncoming rain.

He left her to set up camp while he attempted to wrangle a couple of the mangoes from a tree. Since they were hanging relatively low to the ground, all he had to do was to clamber onto the short trunk and pluck them with little resistance. With two in each hand, he returned with the satisfied air of one who had just accomplished a great mission, and was about to crow about his findings when the sight that met his eyes stopped him.

A tiny butterfly with emerald-green wings fluttered by her, grasping her full attention. The expression of awe on her face was reminiscent of the one she had worn when she had stood before the glass doors of the hotel room, watching it snow in Alabama. Warmth emitting from his heart encompassed him, and he smiled to himself, appreciating the little things that made her let her guard down and wishing he could capture all of them. He ducked his head to get into the shelter. "What's on the TV," he remarked, a lilt in his tone.

"National Geography," was her smart answer.

He grinned and tossed one ripe, yellow fruit to her. It fell into her hands, heavy and promising of sweet flesh. "Can we flip to HBO?"

"Afraid we're stuck with this, honey," she said, not at all sounding sympathetic. "We take turns to choose the channel, remember?" She held the mango to her nose, indulging in the fragrant smell that permeated her senses. Then, she set the fruit down on her lap and surveyed their supplies with a contemplative expression. "What do you say to breakfast for dinner? We've got lots of cereal. Dry cereal," she specified, wrinkling her nose. "Because I forgot to get the milk at the grocery store today, along with the steak and potatoes."

"Well, ain't no better time to exercise my huntin' skills, Jane," he said, merriment in his eyes. The idea that they could still play house in such a dismal situation was of comfort to him.

About an hour later, the air was still refusing to budge, as though too laden down with moisture to move. The entire forest seemed to hold its breath, just waiting for the release from the skies, to have the blanket of heat flung far from them. He knew he sure was waiting for it. They sat, legs stretched out, backs against the rough bark of the tree, exhausted, drained, and wishing for relief from the humidity.

Then he heard her say something. He turned a questioning gaze in her direction, waiting for more. She stared hard at the tips of her tennis shoes, smudged with dirt and worn out from the endless walking. "For everything that happened," she said softly. "I'm sorry, James."

And even though it was vague, he understood what she meant, and why she apologized, even though none of it was her doing. He pulled her closer, letting her rest on his shoulder. There was no need for a worded response. It wasn't what she was expecting. He was appreciative of what she offered, and the fact that he knew how she felt was enough.

A lone cricket chirped, daring to break the fearful silence of nature. In his soothing baritone voice, he sings the words of Marley's Redemption Song in the quietness, the night's lullaby.

At the utmost top of a redwood tree, a little leaf quavered.

* * *

_He saunters to work, a bounce in his step, humming under his breath. His colleagues eye him with strange looks but he ignores them, only caring that he feels more buoyant than he ever has in a long time. He called her right after he checked out of the motel, which was yesterday, but no one picked up. He assumed work was keeping her from answering any calls, and he was right. She got back to him that evening after getting his message, apologizing for not picking up his call. _

_The more he gets to know her, the more he feels that she is like a closed book, which intrigues him because you never know what you'll find in those pages. He plays with the thought that perhaps she is his soul mate. How else can it be explained that they share so many things in common, that she just seems to get him? _

_He plops onto his chair, their conversation springing to mind. "Do you like to read," he asked, because reading is one of his favourite pastimes, and she replied, "Yes, I do. A lot, actually. I enjoy the classics a lot. I particularly like novels from Dickens, Twain, Steinback…and occasionally, Stephen King." They delved into a long conversation about books, and he found out that those she is fond of are the ones he enjoys the most as well. They also touched on music, and it turns out that the music that she listens to doesn't fall too far from what he has in his collection as well. He smiles, recalling how she mentioned the day she put on Bob Marley's Redemption Song, and it delights him. Isn't a relationship easier to nurture and build when both parties have common interests?_

_As he further ponders, he decides that it is more than just the sharing of interests. As much as he likes knowing that their budding relationship will always have these similarities to bond them together, he feels a deeper connection to her. He remembers that when those stunning blue eyes first collided with his, it felt as though she already knew him._

_He signs a couple of documents and reviews a case file that someone has left on his desk. There isn't a heavy load for him to do today, just to type up a report and get started on his new assignment. He will get to knock off on time for his dinner appointment._

_Someone in the cubicle across the room calls out to him and asks if he will be going to the briefing on Friday. He yells back and asks what briefing. The man rolls his chair out into his view. "Don't tell me you've forgotten it already, Ford. The big man just emailed it to us yesterday. You better not miss this one." He gives a warning glance. "You've already skipped the last meeting." _

_He shakes his head. He must be getting old to have his memory already failing him. He pens it down on a sticky note and positions it on his desk where he will most certainly not miss it. There. Now he will be in attendance. _

_Every so often throughout the day, he finds his gaze straying to the clock, wondering why time seems to crawl. The days usually pass much faster when he is out doing fieldwork. At five till six, he stops tapping his foot impatiently and starts clearing his desk. _

"_Heading to the bar today," the same colleague inquires before he leaves. He says he isn't and that he has got other things planned instead. The man with the jet-black hair throws him a knowing look, which he returns with a grin, and then, he ambles off to his vehicle. Out in the evening air, he lifts his face to the setting sun, basking in the warmness. A strong gust of wind sweeps across the parking lot and playfully ruffles his hair, bringing with it the sweet smell of autumn approaching. _

_It takes close to half an hour to get to the dining place situated on the corner of Main Street Ave. A red Chevrolet Impala pulls in next to his black Audi, and as he steps out of his own car, he realizes who it is. _

"_Right on time, Blondie." He flashes her a teasing grin as she meets him at the front of their vehicles._

_She arches her brows in response. "And I see you are too." _

_He just grins widely and holds the restaurant door open for her. It is a small, comfy place where one can choose to either occupy a booth of deep scarlet, or the 4-chairs-to-a-table on the other side of the area. It has a little bit of a homely feel to it, but he enjoys the atmosphere. Classic rock of the late 70s play in the background. Once the waitress settles them into their seats, he gives her furtive glances over the top of his menu, and she does not notice, or at least, pretends not to. She tucks her hair behind her right ear when it gets in the way. Her eyes flicker up to meet his, and she gives him the cutest smile. His heart trips over itself. He feels like a youngster again with a hopeless crush on the most popular girl in town again. He ignores his racing heart, and hopes he won't begin stuttering. He leans back, assuming a confident stance, and crosses his legs at the ankles. "So…we gonna talk about what happened?"_

_She bits her bottom lip, and then, with that particular gaze that enthralls him, answers, "Are we?" She gives him the half-smile that he can never read. Some people may call it a smirk, but it is part of why she fascinates him. _

_The waitress returns with a bottle of Merlot wine, interrupting them, and tips the bottle to fill the conventional one-third of the glasses. They clink them together, holding each other's gazes and only breaking eye contact to sip the wine. _

"_You hit the bars often?" He asks, purposefully injecting nonchalance in the inquiry._

"_Not often." She swirls the smooth, rich redness in her own glass with the practiced skill of one who has done it often. "Do you?"_

_He shrugs a shoulder. "Only to sing some country, listen to some bands, and meet new people." He studies her. "Sure didn't expect to find a doctor where I was. Sittin' at the bar, downin' one hell of an Alabama Slammer."_

_The corners of her lips tilt upwards ever so slightly, the beginnings of a teasing comeback. "Can I tell you a secret?" He lifts his eyebrows, and she leans forward just the slightest bit. "Where I work, we have a lot of practice with alcohol too." _

_He is amused and thinks he is enjoying their easy bantering way too much. He hasn't met anyone who has managed to match him in terms of sarcasm and wit, at least, not until now, and she surprises him by holding her own. With that almost indiscernible smile still playing across her face, she proceeds to drain the rest of her beverage. By the time they are done with their appetizers, they have accomplished consuming half the bottle of wine. _

"_Sometimes they hold a little swing dance party. You should come."_

_Her laugh is music to his ears. "Dancing isn't one of my strong points," she tells him._

"_Aw, c'mon," he says with gentle persuasion. "It'll be fun. I'll teach you."_

"_Maybe," she replies in an indecipherable tone, and he settles for that. _

_Their entrées arrive, pan-seared scallops and angel hair pasta in a tomato-based sauce. He tells her this place has a reputation for serving good pasta. The oddest expression, much like a pained look, crosses her face. Within the second though, the frown disappears, and he wonders if perhaps he has imagined it. _

_They exchange information about their work, and he tells her that about a year ago, he switched jobs to another department because he got stationed elsewhere. He does not notice how her eyes have lit up, and she asks about the place where he used to work before he was transferred. He tells her, and he sees that her face falls slightly at his answer. He wonders why. Trying to make up for the unintentional mistake that he has committed, he compliments her about the necklace she wears. _

_Strangely enough, it seems to backfire on him. He receives no expression of pleasure. One would think it is the norm after being complimented. She fingers the silver dove pendant, brows drawn together. "Thank you," she hesitates, as though contemplating if she ought to say more. Her gaze flicks up to meet his. "It's a gift from someone I used to know."_

_Right at that instant, there is a little niggling feeling that troubles him, the kind of feeling he gets when a word evades him, and for the life of him, cannot figure out what it is. He senses that the someone she is referring to still means a lot to her and wonders if it is from a past lover. He doesn't probe, watching as yet again, she swallows the last drop of wine in her glass. She has come across as an independent woman who is perfectly capable of taking care of herself, and he is sure that she is well aware of her own limits, but his worry supersedes his assumptions. "You keep drinkin', sweetheart," he remarks lightly. "And you ain't gonna be able to drive home." _

_She chuckles softly, fingers brushing the slender stem of the glass. "I'm a grown girl, *Five-0 Sir, but I appreciate the concern. I think you have no cause to worry." _

_And she was right. He didn't have to, because she doesn't drive home. In fact, she doesn't drive anywhere that night._

_He takes her home with him. She lies on his bed, hair spilling around her like a golden halo. Her cheeks are flushed, the wine having heightened the colour in her face, her eyes an electric blue. His hand slides up to caress her face, but when he leans down to kiss her lips, she turns her head away. "Not today," she says in a low voice. He is confused for a moment until she refocuses his attention. Once more, the passion takes precedence over everything else. Even as the first flutters of bliss start to converge in his world, he wonders who she really is, and what is that deep secret she hides._

* * *

_The call jostles her from her sleep, and she awakes with a start, heart pounding as though she has just finished a marathon. She looks around, panicked for a second at the unfamiliar surroundings, but as her eyes land on him, the feeling ebbs away. He breathes deeply, still in the clutches of sleep._

_But there is no one else. The voice is but a memory. _

_She bends her head, face twisted in an expression of agony. What is she doing?_

_Wrapped up in anguish, she does not notice that there is a shifting beside her until she feels a hand on her back. He is awake, his features arrayed in concern. "What's wrong, sweetheart?"_

_She cannot answer, because at that moment, it seems like he is really here, and every bit of her wishes to believe that he is. How often has he been where he is right now, saying those words in that very same tone, and wearing that expression of worry as he rubs her back? She escapes to the bathroom, finding herself to be incapable of carrying on the masquerade, and she buries her face in her lap to stifle her cries. She hears a hesitant knock on the bathroom door, and his voice asking if she is all right, but she ignores him, gripping elbows tight to still the trembling. When it is over, she pulls herself up, using the blue porcelain sink as a support, and splashes cold water on her face, over and over until she can remember the hotness of her tears on her cheeks no longer. _

_When she emerges from the bathroom, there is but a slight trace of what went on hidden behind the closed door. In his shorts and white singlet, he scrutinizes her. She tells him that she has got to go, and without a kiss or a hug, she is gone, leaving him sitting dumbfounded on the edge of the bed._

_She hails a cab to take her back where her car is, and by the time she reaches her house, it is eight in the morning. She throws her clothes in the laundry basket and pulls on track pants and a tank top. _

_Running has become part of her weekly routine. Sometimes she runs, feet pounding hard on the ground, as though trying to leave certain memories in the dust behind her, as though if she runs fast enough, she can escape the nightmares that ensnare her. _

_She bends over and tightens the laces on her shoes. The look on his face when she left this morning flashes through her mind, and her stomach ties in a knot._

_How could she even have considered leading him on like this?_

_She runs, almost sprinting, until all she feels is the heat from her body and the burning pain in her calf muscles. She collapses to the ground at the end of the track, panting and gasping, and for that moment, thankful that all she feels is the physical discomfort of struggling to breathe. _

_When her heartbeat has returned to its normal pace, she picks herself up, wiping her face with the white towel around her neck and trudges back to her car. She sees that she has two missed calls, both from him. The guilt, a heavyweight in her heart, is back with new fury. She tosses her phone into the glove compartment. Perhaps if it is out of sight, it will be out of mind. _

_She turns on the radio to mute the thoughts crowding in her head. Some news broadcaster goes on in a bleak tone about the death of John Lennon. In some sadistic way, it makes her feel better knowing that she isn't the lone person that is drowning in misery. As she pulls into her driveway, she turns the radio off and retrieves her phone without looking at the screen. _

_She exits the car and enters the house again. It is now a quarter past nine. She will have to call him at ten to check in, and he will be more than happy to receive her call. During last night's conversation, she obtained the name of his latest suspect. It shouldn't take much more effort to extract more details with this opening, such as the whereabouts of the suspect. _

_It suddenly occurs to her that she is musing over these things in a most callous manner. Revulsion creeps in. What has she become, a thought exclaims, aghast. She pushes it away and heads down the hallway to take her bath, but right before she reaches the bathroom, something stops her in her footsteps. _

_There is a door, very plain and simple in its appearance, and built out of red oak like every single one of the doors in the house. But this one is different. It is one that she has kept shut for months now. Whether she is merely unable or just unwilling to open it, she doesn't know, but today, it beckons to her, and she is drawn to it like a moth to a flame._

_Slowly, tentatively, she cracks it open as though by doing so, she would release the monster within, one that would leap out and consume her. What meets her eyes is the same picture that she remembers from before. It is as though nothing has changed, though she knows everything has. All is as it has been the day she firmly shut the door, resolving to never step in until all is right again._

_Perhaps it is his reappearance that has awakened that yearning in her._

_It is a square room with a little chandelier hanging from the cream-coloured ceiling. On the calming green-blue walls, the colour of the sea under the clear sky, there is a wall decal of a branch extending from the ground, its pink and white flowers hanging over a little cot with dark teakwood panels. By the white drawer, a rectangular mirror with a bronze patterned frame is positioned over a light pink dresser, its surface empty sans a small vase and dried petals scattered around it. _

_She takes all of that in with the look of one who knows every nook and cranny, and is seeing it all again after years of being absent from home. _

_Almost against her own will, her legs carry her to the mantle, where photo frames are meticulously positioned in a crooked line, each at a slight angle, collecting dust. She stops before one, eyes fixated on the two people captured in a moment of perfection, faces wreathed in grins of happiness that now seems so foreign to her. _

_She touches his face, a lump rising to her throat. Her gaze shifts to the little blond girl that rides on his shoulders. The wide baby blues that stare back at her are identical to hers, but the playfulness that sparkles in them comes from her father. She wears the mischievous smile that is so similar to his, complete with the heartbreaker dimples. She even takes after him when it comes to the confidence. _

"_Daddy," she hears in her head, the very same childlike voice that woke her this morning. "Daddy, carry me!" Then, his deep rumbling laugh sounds as he complies with her request. _

_A faint smile wanders onto her face as she strokes her daughter's face through the glass._

_**Rachelle._

* * *

**_A/n: *Five-0 Sir is from the American police drama 'Hawaii Five-0' that ran from 1968 - 1980. **Rachelle is a nod to Rachel, Juliet's sister, the storyline which TPTB have so conveniently dropped in Lost. Seeing that Rachel named her son, Julian, I thought it was fitting to name Juliet's daughter Rachelle. _**


	11. Chapter 11

**Chapter 11**

_He steps out of his apartment, whistling a happy tune to the beat of his pace, which stops suddenly when he spies a half-grown puppy of an inquisitive nature sticking its head in the exhaust pipe of his car. He claps his hands loudly, startling the animal. "You don't wanna do that, buddy," he warns. The puppy whines, and its tail picks up speed as it ambles over to him. It bends its head and sniffs at the bottom of his jeans._

"_Better not pee on them, buddy. These are my favourite pair," he says as he stoops and rubs the furry, bobbing head. "And my last clean ones," he admits in a rather sheepish tone. The puppy gazes up at him, tongue hanging out, panting, and looking for all the world as though laughing at him. _

"_Go home now," he stands up abruptly and motions with his hand. "They're probably lookin' for you." _

_The puppy whines and turns in a circle, then, stops and looks at him, tail wagging endlessly. _

_He has to smile at the bundle of adorableness. "Suit yourself, Golden. Stay here if you wish. I got a very important date, and I gotta make a trip to the store." He unlocks the car door and is about to slide in when a thought strikes him. He hunkers back down by the overly-eager and enthusiastically-licking dog, affectionately giving it another head rub. "If you were me, pup, and you wanted to get somethin' for a girl, what would you get?"_

_The golden retriever just licks him cheerfully and responds with a wide-mouthed grin. _

_He hangs his head, sighing. "You're just happy to get all the attention, ain't you? Well, that's all fine and dandy for you. I'm gonna need somethin' more than that to win her over."_

_He leaves the puppy chasing its tail on the driveway and completes the ten-minute drive to the store. Even though it is the weekend, there are few shoppers at this time of the day. He unhooks a cart, and beginning at the top of his list, heads to the first section. He chooses a small sack of potatoes from the pile and grabs a couple of ribeye steaks from the meat aisle. He may not clinch the title of World's Best Cook, but he can certainly make a mean steak. Meandering through the store, he throws in a couple of items that he thinks his house lacks. In goes a carton of eggs, a packet of bacon strips, a loaf of French bread, milk, Parmesan cheese, and a six-pack beer. _

_As he heads to the counter to pay for his groceries, a little brown-headed girl bumps into him, or more specifically, into his leg. He holds his breath for a second, not knowing if she is one of those who will start screaming the whole place down._

_But she doesn't. She just stares up at him with curious green eyes. _

"_Kate!" A voice hisses, and a woman darts into the scene, snatching the little girl up in her arms. "I'm sorry," she apologizes, and he just smiles and nods in acknowledgement. As they vanish around the corner, he waves goodbye to the girl being carted away, green eyes still fixated on him._

"_Next, please," the cashier announces, a look of boredom on her face as she snaps her gum._

_On the way back to the car, laden with groceries, the jewellery store on the first floor of the mall catches his eye. He wanders over, thinking he will only linger for a second to ponder the rings on display. For a whole minute, he pauses before the clear glass. The diamonds glisten, iridescent, once more igniting that feeling of grasping air as he struggles to remember what it is that evades his memory. _

_Nothing comes to mind, and he walks away, acutely conscious of that one missing piece in the puzzle. Frustration reveals itself in the form of a furrowed brow, and he muses over it a bit more as he loads the car. _

_At five in the evening, he puts his book away and sets the potatoes in the oven. Then, he sprinkles the steaks with salt and pepper. She arrives just as he is about to place them on the hot grill. _

"_Something smells good," she remarks as she steps in, dressed in casual jeans and a cotton tee. They enter the kitchen, and she is visibly impressed by his culinary skills. "You can be the next Jamie Oliver," she jokes, but quickly sobers up when he shoots her a look of perplexity._

"_Jamie who?"_

"_Never mind," her eyes cloud over for an instant. Then, they light up with her smile. "Dinner looks good, James. I never knew you could cook."_

_He shrugs modestly. "Picked it up over the year. I would've starved to death if I didn't." _

_The oven dings, and he pulls the potatoes out, careful not the let the metal tray sear his skin. "Looks like they're done." He hands her a plate and quotes, "Look at that moon. Potato weather for sure."_

"_Thornton Wilder." She grins. "Great playwright."_

"_T'ain't natural to be lonesome," he mimics another character__ from the book, and as the__ steaks sizzle, he nods to them, signifying that they are ready. "Ladies first."_

_During dinner, he discovers that the Baseball World Series is airing, and seeing that she doesn't mind if the television plays in the background, he leaves it on. _

_Halfway through the game, she comments with a undertone of disinterest, "*Philadelphia Phillies are gonna win."_

_He wrinkles his nose. He doesn't have to think that one over. "Not a chance, Blondie. It's gonna be the New York Yankees. They've got this one in the bag. Phillies ain't got nothin' on them."_

"_I'll bet you. It's going to be the Philadelphia Phillies."_

_There is no mischievous twinkle lurking in her eyes. He sees that she's dead serious. _

_He laughs it off with a chuckle and a grin, and she responds with a noncommittal shrug._

"_Thought I'd just let you know," she says before spearing a piece of bite-sized steak with her fork. _

_When the meal is over, she stands to help him clear the table, and he takes the dishes to the kitchen. He will take care of them later, which might mean any time from tonight till the day after, depending on his schedule. He does have a slight tendency to procrastinate. It certainly leaves much to be desired. _

_When he returns, she is stationed at his bookshelves, overflowing with novels. Some books are stuffed on top of others, no other available spots left on the shelves. It does seem rather unsightly, he thinks as he looks at them with a critical eye. All these probably escaped her attention the first time she came to his house. They did have other priorities on their minds. _

_She picks up a book of trivia and reads out loud, "Did you know the sea of tranquility is located on the moon?" She glances up at him, a questioning look on her face. _

"_I did," he replies. "Thanks to that little book you're holdin' right there."_

_A wry smile appears, and setting it back on the shelf, she moves further down, sifting through his sparse movie collection with mild interest. It is greatly lacking when compared to the amount of books, but he's not much of a movie watcher, and he doubts she is either._

"_Want somethin' to drink?" He offers. "Coffee, beer, water?"_

"_Water's fine," she replies a little distractedly. _

_He pours her a cup and extracts a beer from the fridge for himself. Then, he settles on the couch, watching her as she browses the book section once more, seemingly entranced by the pages of printed ink. "You can borrow some of them if you like," he says. _

_His phone beeps, and he glances at it. "Postponed till 6PM tomorrow," it reads on his screen._

_He flips the cover back and stuffs it in his pocket._

"_Work?" She asks with slight curiosity. _

"_Yeah. A colleague needs help in a case. I just gotta stand in for someone else. Nothin' too dangerous," he winks at her._

_She takes her place next to him on the couch and sets the two novels she has chosen on the table, exchanging them for the cup of water. He takes a swig of his cold beverage, glancing at her choices, and recognizes the covers of A Wrinkle in Time and The Grapes of Wrath. "You're welcome to keep them as long as you want."_

_She nods her thanks. She normally appears to be a little standoffish, but even more so since dinner. He tries to draw her back in with a curious observation he made that one night. "That mark," he mentions, the beer dangling from his fingers. "Care to share what that's all about, Blondie?"_

"_What mark?"_

"_On your back."_

_Her lips give a quirk. "It's a burn."_

_That's all she says with no further explanation. He believes there is more to that than she is letting on, and her evasiveness is beginning to frustrate him. Why is it so difficult to get her to open up? In a tone underlined with patience that he does not feel, he says, "Tell me somethin' I don't know about you, Juliet."_

_For the first time, he calls her by her name. Again, he notices that flicker on her face, the one that betrays the crack in her façade, that promises him a glimpse into her inner world. Usually, she patches it up so quickly, one might wonder if it even happened._

_But not today._

"_I had a little girl once." _

_Her voice rises and falls in gentle waves with her words. He hears the second hand ticking on his clock, the slightly labored breathing that punctuates her words. _

"_I lost her." Her jaw muscle clenches, and her hands are tight around the mug. Her voice grows fainter, the look in her eyes more distant. "For a while, all the little golden-haired girls I saw…I thought was her." Her gaze, shimmering, flitters to the ground, and he senses that he will not get anymore out of her regarding the admission of her child. _

"_I'm sorry," he says quietly._

"_What if I tell you that we don't belong here, James?"_

_It catches him off-guard, as much as the abrupt change of topic. He draws his brows together, wondering if it is a trick question. _

_His hesitation seems to be an answer in itself. She shakes her head, hair flying, and sweeps the strands back in one fluid motion with a look that can only be described as distressed. "Forget it. I shouldn't have said anything." He is taken aback at the undercurrent of agitation in her manner. "I probably should go. It's getting late." _

_Something rises and protests within him. Acting on mere impulse, he grabs her wrist to prevent her from leaving. He doesn't want her to go. He wants her to stay._

_With him._

_She is looking at him with an unreadable expression, and he finds comfort that she isn't trying to leave anymore. _

_Still, he does not relinquish his hold on her. He is afraid. _

_For someone who likes to think of himself as not needing to depend on anybody, it is a difficult realization, but not to admit it is just mere denial. He does not remember ever being this vulnerable. _

_As clichéd as it may sound, there is something about her that makes him feel complete. _

_Content. _

_When she relents and curls back on the couch, the tightness in his chest goes away. He gently runs his fingers down her hair, from the crown of her head to the ends of her golden strands. She lets him. His gaze settles lightly on her, and he sees that her eyes with their blond lashes are closed. His heart thumps in his chest, each beat sending an overflowing wave of emotion through him. _

_Is it possible to love someone within weeks of knowing her?_

_He hears her mumble something. He lowers his head trying to catch the words that her lips form, but they make no sense to him.__ Knowing her, it might just be some quote from a book that she is currently reading. _

_The words are no longer audible. She has fallen silent, and into sleep, it appears. He carefully hooks one arm under her knees and the other supporting her back, then, he lifts her with a slight grunt. She shifts a little, a passing frown forming at the disturbance from her sleep, and wrapping her arms around his neck, presses her face against the crook of his neck, shying from the intrusive light of the room._

_A smile curves his lips, and he carries her to his room. He places her on the bed, and lightly tugs the blanket free. She rolls to her side, curling into a fetal position, and he tucks her in tight. Brushing his hand over her forehead, he whispers a husky goodnight. _

_He rises from the bed, and as he walks quietly to the door, he hears a soft cry. He hears her calling out to him. _

_Her eyes, pale blue and vulnerable in the light streaming in from the doorway, pull at his heartstrings. _

_And finally, he sees past those walls she has constructed. He sees a depth of hurt and agony that he cannot even began to comprehend. How does he tell her that when he looks at her, he just wants to hold her in his arms and keep her safe? _

_The words ring in his ears. "Don't go," she said. _

_Faint, and unconfident, but he hears the plea in them._

_He can almost see the fear subside as he takes the step back to her. Her face is concentrated on all that she wants to say to him, yet none of that gets past her closed lips. He cups her face, stroking her cheek with his thumb, and feels her grasping his hand tight, as though afraid he will leave her. Her eyes search his, and he lets her know that he is here._

_He will always be here for her._

_Under the covers, she shivers once, and he pulls her closer, enveloping her in his arms._

_He falls into a deep sleep, strangely calmed by her presence and the fact that she is next to his heart. Sometime during the night, he hears her voice, but she is speaking in a language he does not understand. Over and over, he hears them in his slumber._

_**Sine te iam vivere nequeo. _

_The words, though he cannot make sense of them, are imprinted in his mind. Then, he feels her lips on his skin, a kiss that lingers on even as he wakes to another day._

* * *

_**A/n: *They won in the 1980 World Series. **I cannot live without you.**_


	12. Chapter 12

**A/n: Sorry for the long wait! I've been a little distracted lately, plus I feel like I've been through the grinder the past few days. I had to scrape this chapter off the walls of my brain. On the bright side, there's also a real chapter update on the Bass/Rachel story!  
**

**A/n2: Story undergoing some revamping. There is some slight shuffling and modification of passages, so DO NOT PANIC! Lastly, some little tidbits of previous chapters have been added to fill you in on the story.**

* * *

**Chapter 12**

_God never makes anything in a straight line. _

That was her thought as she concentrated on placing one foot in front of the other, step by step. The mess of overgrowth seemed to be endless, and she wondered if they would ever reach the other side. She looked up, and patches of the sun-lit sky showed through the canopy of trees, its leaves and branches outlined in gold.

Golden lining. The positive phrase couldn't have come at a better time. She stopped, frowning. Or perhaps the original saying was silver lining. She might have left her brain back in the dust with all that walking.

"You seem particularly…unaffected for one having spent so much time in the forest," Charlotte commented.

She hadn't noticed the redhead strolling up next to her on the trail. Sometimes, she forgot it wasn't just her and James anymore.

Just last night, they had heard an unnatural rumbling that seemed to be approaching them at rapid velocity. For an island, it sure was producing a number of un-island-like sounds. He'd grabbed her hand, and they had started running, trying to avoid getting smacked by the hanging vines and tripped by protruding roots, not knowing what was chasing them, and only certain that whatever it was didn't sound particularly friendly. All of a sudden, as they stumbled into a clearing, they found themselves staring into the equally astonished faces of Miles and the Faradays. James had smiled wryly, saying, "Guess we ain't the only ones runnin', sweetheart."

She was learning to expect the unexpected in this place.

"Unaffected is probably not the word I'd use, but I like to see things in a positive light," she replied, producing a tiny smile with some effort. The reminder that they weren't travelling alone anymore had doubled the amount of time she spent brooding over Danny's death, casting a shadow on her day. So far, no one had mentioned it, and it wasn't clear if anyone even knew of it. James, meanwhile, had been silently protective, never straying too far from her, making sure she was always in his sight.

She knew that though they had become friends with the three of them, they were still considered the island natives, and they didn't know how much they could trust them. If there was some sort of tension in the air, it was subtle and unspoken, and likely to go on unaddressed as long as possible.

They had plenty of questions to ask, but the Faradays had implemented a rule, and just one.

Walk first, talk later.

James had placed his arm around her waist, pulling her closer. She had seen by his furrowed brow that he didn't exactly like the idea of joining the three locals, but they did have the advantage of knowing the island better than them, not to mention they might or might not be in possession of firearms whereas they were but two men with not a single gun.

They heard nothing but the chirping of crickets and birds, and their footsteps for a long time.

"Y'all should really mow your lawn once in a while."

At James' comment, she withheld a smile. His witty sarcasm always had a way of humoring her.

"Do you know exactly how big this island is, Sawyer?" Miles's slightly aggravated voice responded behind her.

"Yeah, big," the blond man said dryly. "As I very specifically recall you tellin' me on our first patrol together."

"I also happen to recall a couple of important things I told you that day, Sawyer," came his reply.

She wondered what that was all about, but James said nothing more on the subject. His footsteps quickened, and then, he was by her, offering a honey-and-oats granola bar. She took it, and when he was back with Miles again, trying to badger him for answers, she stuffed it into the opening of her backpack.

They made camp. Miles had fallen asleep sometime after dinner by the fire. The snoring made it apparent. Meanwhile, the Faradays huddled together, exchanging words that had to do with time-travel and looking unsettlingly serious. That was how he found her, looking intently at the couple and trying to decipher what anything they had been through had to do with travelling through time.

"What's wrong, sweetheart?" He lowered himself to the ground beside her, letting out a little sigh as he did so. "Ash there seems to be quite comfy, don't you think?"

She didn't answer and felt him rub her back in little circles, a comforting gesture that she was now used to. She looked at him, all the unspoken thoughts and abounding worries reflected in her eyes.

He would understand, wouldn't he?

He tenderly brushed her hair back, and for a long time, he just held her. The next thing she knew as she opened her eyes, the sky was lightening with the darkness fading from a blue sky.

And he wasn't around.

She stood up, panic rearing its head. When she finally spotted him, he was with Miles, each gripping an unmoving rabbit by its ears, bright red blood staining its snow-white fur. She began to speak, but instead covered her mouth, the words she intended to say lost, and proceeded to stumble into the brush. She heard him mumble an imprecation under his breath as she ran past him.

When he finally caught up with her, she was bent over a bare area of ground. The nausea had hit so suddenly, she had no time to think before running off. He was rightfully worried to see her bolt like she did. "Probably ate something bad," she told him, smiling weakly.

He didn't.

She went on to say that all of it was probably nothing more than a passing bug, He also knew that out of all of them, she was the one most qualified to diagnose herself. That ought to dissipate his worry, and she saw that the pale smile meant to reassure him had just barely convinced him for the moment. She, on the other hand, could not fully confine the fear and nagging suspicions that nibbled at the edge of her mind.

She told him nothing. All those thoughts, she kept to herself.

As hard as she tried to shake off the worries that day, they clung onto her like the plague. She had enough years of experience in this particular field to be assured of her self-diagnosis. It left her speechless, knowing that there was life growing inside her, life that they had participated in creating. She wanted so badly to be able to tell him, but the sudden realization that her baby might not live to see the light of day put an abrupt stop to her eagerness.

She had witnessed firsthand how women were unable to give birth on the island.

Was her child destined for death right from the very beginning?

That night, she fell into an uneasy sleep. Deep in the roiling grey fog of the subconscious, someone called her name, slow and deliberate, accompanied by that familiar tinge of unsettling condescension that made her stomach knot up even in slumber. Her shoulder ached with a familiar pain, and she winced at the remembrance of the burning sensation.

_Juliet…_

There was something unearthly about that voice, and it was disturbing.

She opened her eyes, the darkness of the night being the first detail that registered in her mind: the inky blackness, and the moon in its second quarter in the distance. She could hear the faint sounds of waves on the beach. If she held her breath, she could hear them. They were close to their destination, and the boat that Dan said was waiting for them would be there.

They could go home. She could see her sister.

She sat up and blinked hard, wondering if perhaps her mind was merely playing tricks on her, but there it was again, clear in the stillness of the night. It beckoned to her, strangely enticing, yet repelling. It caused a shiver to run down her spine, yet she felt herself get up to find the source of the voice. Her eyes, wide, round, and unblinking, as though she had been awake for hours instead of minutes, were transfixed on the shadowy figure hidden behind the trees and the lack of light. She didn't know what surprised her more, the absence of fear or the strange curiosity that seemed to root her to the ground.

_He_ always did seem to have that innate ability to turn her into a stature.

His name spilled from her mouth, a question instead of a greeting. Her voice was tremulous, a thin line in the flat darkness of the night.

He moved towards her, almost gliding, eyes glimmering like two black stars, and she took a step back, an involuntary motion. He was already dead. She had seen his body in the morgue.

Logic told her that what she was looking at could not be real.

She opened her mouth to speak, and all that came out were words she mangled by stuttering so badly. Even to her ears, it was impossible to make out what she was trying to say. One look at the blatant mockery on his face was enough to drive her into silence.

He cocked his head, surveying her with his dark gaze. "For someone supposed to save lives, you're not gaining the best track record, are you, Jules?" His evil chuckle was not lost in the night, and she blanched at the sound. "Losing patients, and then, killing a man…" His words dripped with disdain. She dropped her gaze, that old sense of worthlessness sneaking back in and entangling her like a fly in its web. It seemed like her past had decided to pay her a little visit.

"There's someone I'd like you to meet, Jules," he whispered in an eerie tone. He disappeared, and all of a sudden, it was Danny that stood before her.

Danny, with his two gunshot wounds to his chest. Danny, whose blood oozed a dark red, maroon circles rapidly expanding on his shirt.

Her chest constricted. Danny just stared, and he kept staring. And then, it was Sabine, the woman she had failed to save, life running from her in streams of red staining her gown and onto the soil, pooling at her feet.

She stumbled over the myriad of apologies that never made their way out. The words died in her mouth, unspoken, leaving a bitter aftertaste. She looked down at her trembling hands, sticky and warm, stained with a dark colour. Panic wrapped its fingers around her throat as she rubbed her palms against her clothes, but the sensation of blood on her hands could not be erased. The oppressive guilt drove out all thoughts of sensibility that the images could not possibly be real.

Her dead husband, standing between the two corpses, grinned his wicked grin. He held out his hands, and in them laid a bird with black feathers, its wing oddly positioned.

Unmoving. Stiff.

Lifeless.

She struggled to breathe. It would all just go away. Nightmares always did.

Didn't they?

"You can't hide from what you did, Jules." His voice seeped through the shield of her hands over her ears. "You can't run from it. You can't shut yourself away and pretend it's not real. This isn't going to just go away. All of it is real. The consequences are real."

Behind closed eyes, she saw flashes of her memories: her 8-year-old self huddled in the corner of a room, hands over her ears, shutting out the voices of her parents screaming at each other. She saw the taunting faces of kids, mocking her for her love of reading, looking at her like they would an insect under a microscope. With cruel laughter that echoed in her ears, they snatched her books and tossed them onto the ground.

His voice swirled around her, surrounding her. "An eye for an eye, a tooth for a tooth, a life for a life."

She heard the cries of the unborn babies. She heard overlapping whispers of accusing voices, rising in testimony against her. As the figures began advancing towards her, she ran. She couldn't remember which way it was back to the camp. She fled from the lifeless bodies, the tormenting laughter, the screaming voices, and that constant rattling sounds that dogged her. The monstrous creature that took the form of her ex-husband crashed through the tangle of overgrowth, determined to destroy.

All at once, she began sinking. There was no solid ground beneath her feet. A gasp escaped as she tripped, falling into particles that clung to her skin.

Sand.

She was on the beach, and she wasn't alone.

There were people she recognized from the barracks. A handful of them milled around. Then, there was Tom, striding towards her with a grim look on his face. He caught hold of her arm with an iron grip and hauled her up. "Faraday told us to expect you in the morning," he said, staring down at her. "Guess there was a change of plans." He glanced to a tall, gangly man. "We better hurry."

"Are you sure about this, Tom?" The man seemed nervous. "There's a good chance we—"

"You know what Ben said." He nodded towards her. "Killing Danny. You shouldn't have run, Julie."

Her heart pounded against her ribcage. She was aware of her own ragged breathing.

Was this what people meant when they said someone's fate hung in the balance?

* * *

Eyes the colour of a stormy sea glared at Miles. His partner was unusually mute as he threw pebbles into the cinders of the fire that had died out. He turned towards the Faradays, his scowl deepening. Dan fidgeted with his tie, looking as though he would rather be anywhere but there. Charlotte folded her arms in defiance and met his stare with an icy expression.

"You think you're just gonna shoot us and walk off this island alive?" The redhead arched her eyebrows. "Even if you succeeded in taking those two guns from us and manage to make it off alive, there's no guarantee you'll find Juliet."

His expression darkened. "Well, Ginger, there's a reason why I haven't killed you yet."

"She shouldn't have run."

"Dan!" Charlotte whipped her head around.

Her expression told him all that he needed to know. From the start, they had been aware of Pickett's death. They had planned all along to lead them into a trap. He sucked in his breath, trying to rein in his temper. Why hadn't he listened to his instincts in the first place?

"Y'all are gonna help me find her."

"Like hell we will."

"Charlotte—"

"Dan, we aren't even sure we'll make it off alive, and you want us to help him? It's their fault they even got into this mess in the first place. If only they'd just followed the rules—"

"_Forget the goddamned rules!"_ He roared. He was in no state of mind to discuss rules when there were other pressing matters to deal with. Every second he spent talking was a second wasted. He didn't know where Juliet was. He didn't know if she was even alive, and he didn't know where to start looking for her. He needed these people to help him, but they were sure as hell not cooperating. He clenched his jaw, fighting to keep his emotions under control. He had told her he would keep her safe, and look how that ended. "Let me put this plain and simple for you, Ginger. If I got a gun, and you got a gun…" He swerved the weapon he was holding so that it was pointing towards Dan, and he saw the redhead's face whiten. A corner of his lips tilted up in a wry smile at her faltering confidence. "I hold mine to Dan's head," he continued in a passive voice as he unlocked the safety catch. The click sounded in the air, and he watched as the rest of the colour drained from her face. "And you know he's gonna die, what would you do?" His breath escaped through parted lips. "Run away because you don't wanna break the rules…or shoot me?"

There was a calmness in his manner that he did not feel. Adrenaline coursed through him. Whoever said power wasn't addictive? But it was all a ruse, he told himself. The one who'd win was the one who held out to the end. His eyes flickered to each of them.

He had no need to say more. They all knew the answer.

"With our people," Miles said quietly. "On the other island. They're gonna decide her verdict." He tossed another stone, this one rolling close to Charlotte's foot, who shot him a death stare. He ignored her. "I can tell you it's not gonna be good. The rules are strict on this one."

"I _know_ what the rules are. Why do ya think we ran?" After a split-second, he lowered his gun. Charlotte muttered something under her breath and went to Dan, kneeling by him as though needing to make sure he was all right. "Don't worry your pretty little head about him, Red. I didn't hurt him with any invisible bullets." He tucked one of the guns into the waistband of his pants, keeping the other in his hand. "Let's go."

"Go where?"

"To wherever your people are taking Juliet. Where else are we gonna go?" He replied, aggravated.

"Well," Miles clambered to his feet, brushing his hands off on his jeans. "She's better off there than anywhere else on the island."

"Is she really?"

He startled at the British accent that cut into their conversation. At the warning whistle of a bullet flying through the air, they ducked in unison. He could feel his heart racing as he hugged the gun to his chest, sweat beading on his forehead. His eyes scanned for the shooter.

A group of four men emerged from the shrubs, carrying firearms. One of them motioned for him to drop his weapon. It didn't take a genius to figure out that the odds were against him. He let the gun in his hand fall to the ground in reluctance.

"And the other one."

He grinded his teeth, realizing they had been around long enough to hear their conversation. He pulled it out slowly from behind his back, letting it clatter by its partner.

"Now, I see there's another one of you out there. Juliet, wasn't it?" The one with the British accent remarked. "Guess we have to find her. We don't want her to be roaming about this place all by herself, do we? Dangerous, you know."

Without warning, something hard and unyielding rammed between his shoulder blades, and the next thing he knew, his face was shoved against the dirt of the ground. With a mouth full of soil and who knew what else, he swore in his head.

_Son of a bitch. _


	13. Chapter 13

**A/n: In case you missed the announcement the first time, I've made some changes to the fic. Nothing major, so no worries. If you don't know where we are right now, you may have missed an update. Just check out the previous chapter, or drop me a note if you're still confused!**

* * *

**Chapter 13**

She sat on the concrete block in the cage, arms around her knees, the rusty metal bars jutting into her back. The slightest movement caused the seared portion of her skin to protest in pain. It really wasn't all that bad. She had experienced worse. It was just an inconvenient injury. At that thought, she laughed to herself. Whichever injury was ever convenient? She laid her head on her arms, letting the gentle rustling of the trees soothe her.

Two hours ago, she had been sitting in the room where the trial was held. It was a hasty one, and few more than those on the beach joined them. Ben hadn't been amongst them. Isabel had pinned her with her gaze, flinging accusation after accusation at her. It seemed futile to defend herself, and it didn't appear like they had allocated any time for her to speak anyway, so she stayed silent. Based on the stories that went around, she had expected to be handed a death sentence, so at the end of the fifteen-minute slip-shod trial, when they proclaimed that she was to be marked, it came as a surprise. But she wasn't about to ask them why. She was just going to take this blessing in disguise and thank her lucky stars that the sentence was lenient.

Two men carted her away to a tiny room, chaining her to a horizontal metal pole that limited movement of her hands.

"You might want to bite down on this," one of them said, a kind look on his face. She remembered him from around their on-island neighbourhood.

"It's a sentence much worse than death, you know."

From her chair, she heard those words, laced with the intention of making the situation more unpleasant for her. She turned her face away, refusing to acknowledge Isabel or her words. She only wanted to get this marking over with.

The door was pushed open. She heard a couple of people murmuring in urgent tones. She recognized the words 'they're coming'. Someone ordered her to stand. The chair was shoved to a side, and her shirt pushed up on her back. There was no warning. She felt the heat approaching her skin and instinctively clenched the cloth between her teeth. It had to be only a second long, but it was enough to make her knees buckle. She was helped up. In her pain-fogged state, she heard a man say, "Sorry. Anticipation is the worst part."

She gritted her teeth against the pain so she wouldn't have to bear the humiliation of having to be carried from the room. They took her to a cage, where she was now wasting her time, stuck and alone with her thoughts. That was one reason why she was thankful for the pain. It took her mind off issues she had no clue on how to fix.

She fingered a crisp brown leaf that the breeze had chased into the cage, berating herself for the fine mess she had gotten herself into. James had been right in not trusting the people they were with. They had planned all along to put her on trial. She tore the leaf along its veins, wondering if he was all right. What was worse than being stuck in a cage, not knowing if he was dead or alive? It would drive a person crazy.

With a sigh, she tossed the fragments of the leaf away, as yet another thought meandered into her head, this one bringing a twisted smile to her face.

She was now in a literal prison. Whoever would've thought? The figurative has become literal. Rachel would be amused.

The sound of her sister's laughter filtered into her head, and the smile slipped off her face. Rachel would be that one aunt who would shower her baby with toys and coddle him or her every minute. A lump rose in her throat. Suddenly, all that she wanted to do was to go home, see her sister, and walk into her comforting embrace.

With renewed motivation, she climbed off the block, uncomfortably aware of the stinging on her back. "Hey!" She yelled, jerking at the bars of the cage. "Hey, can anyone hear me?"

Nothing.

Leaves scuttled across the ground, ignorant of her queries. From where she stood, it looked like a ghost town. It was as though the people took off as soon as the marking was finished.

Surely they didn't plan to leave her behind to die of exposure and starvation on this island.

"Is anyone out there?"

A movement in that thick brush just by the other cage caught her attention, and from it emerged a young boy that couldn't have been more than twelve years old. He was skinny with light brown hair, checkered shirt tucked neatly into his pants, and scuffed tennis shoes on his feet. For a long moment, they just stared at one another. She had not been aware that they were children on the island.

"Who are you?"

"Juliet," she replied after a pause.

His eyes were huge, magnified by the pair of round spectacles on his face. There was something about them that struck her as strangely familiar.

"I've never seen you before. You're not one of our people." He took another step closer to the cage until he was close enough for her to touch him. He stared up at her, eyes wide beneath his frames. "And you don't look like one of them. The Hostiles.

_Hostiles?_

"You know, Richard's people."

"Richard," she repeated, grasping at the name like a drowning man would a lifesaver. "Richard is here? On the island?"

He nodded, glasses slipping down the bridge of his nose. He pushed them back up again. "He brings me here sometimes. Me and my rabbit," he patted the bulging bag that he had slung over his shoulder. "It gets boring sometimes in Dharmaville, but he's fun. Not like my dad." His enthusiasm faltered for a split-second, then, he brightened. "But Richard's going to take me with him sometime. Make me one of them," he said proudly. "I'm gonna be one of the Hostiles."

His mind spun with terms that made no sense to her. She had to speak to Richard. That was what she needed to do. "Listen, uh…"

"It's Ben," he offered.

Ben. There was something about him that tugged at her heartstrings. He seemed eager to please, eager to earn approval. He reminded her of the kid she used to go to school with, the one who would always get shoved into the lockers and have his homework flushed down the toilet. They had been friends. "Ben," she softened her voice. "Listen, can you get Richard for me? It's very important that I talk to him."

She breathed a prayer of thanks when he asked no questions. Lighting up at the thought of being entrusted with a significant task, he shot back into the trees. Within the span of a few minutes, he returned with the dark-haired man striding right behind. Ben pointed to her and said something to him, words which the man frowned at as he looked at her.

The beginnings of dread wrapped its coils around her. Had he already known what she had done? Did he know that she was being punished for killing a man?

"I told you I wasn't making stuff up," Ben said as they stopped before the cage. "I got here, and the polar bears weren't here anymore. She was in there. She's called Juliet," he looked at her for confirmation, and she nodded.

"I didn't know you were on the island," she started uncertainly when, still, Richard gazed at her with that perturbed expression without a word. "If I'd known, I would've—"

"Do we know each other?"

She stopped short, mouth agape. Perhaps she had heard wrong. "Excuse me?"

He rubbed his jaw, scrutinizing her intensely.

There was a flicker of terror within her. "You recruited me, Richard. Don't you remember?"

As the silence stretched out, the coils of dread tightened around her. Then, all at once, the words came pouring out as an attempt to salvage some sanity in the situation. She told him how he had approached her a couple of months ago, asking if she was interested in joining his company. She brought up the subject of pregnant women and their disability, and how she came to the island to help solve the problem. After all of that, she searched his face for a sign of recognition, but all that met her was an uncomprehending stare.

"Well," he rested his hands on his hips as he studied her. "Since we can't seem to reach an understanding, looks like we've got some questioning to do…Juliet."

* * *

_Son of a bitch._

_She twists away from the tiny spray of water that is hitting her squarely in the face and fumbles for a cloth. Normally, it would be a breeze to patch up the leak, but not when her mind is occupied with other matters. Her cheeks flush as she presses the cloth against the pipe, remembering the disaster that was yesterday. She'd been so absentminded at work, putting her pen in her cup of coffee instead of the stationery holder, pushing the glass door when the sign specifically said pull, not once, but twice, and bringing the wrong file for the patient checkups. She wipes her damp face with the back of her hand and reaches for the adjustable pliers. Good thing she has the day off because she is in no state to be attending to patients with her mind wandering all over the place. Yesterday is proof enough. _

"_Need some help there?"_

_His voice draws her from her thoughts. A teasing grin spreads across her face. "What? Think I can't handle a leaky sink, James?" _

"_Just thought I'd offer my services, ma'am." He returns a lopsided smile. "Found The Eagles CD in the collection, by the way. I noticed you got a lot of that opera music. *Dido & Aeneas, and Madame Butterfly," he recites as he leans against the bathroom door. "What are you? An opera aficionado, or somethin'?" _

_She smiles at his laugh. She doesn't tell him she never listens to his music anymore. Though she keeps the albums, she can never put them on without being reminded of her loss, so she has reshuffled the CDs on the shelf, placing them at the back as a way to keep the painful memories at bay. _

_She tightens the last compression nut on the metal trap. "There. I think it'll hold."_

"_Looks like a hell of a fine job to me," he comments as she scoots out from beneath the bathroom sink. "Impressive, Blondie. Never knew you were this handy with a tool."_

"_Pipes, motors, and all that jazz." She bends to pick up the soaked cloth from the tiled floor. "My dad taught me when I visited him in the summers. He was interested in machinery. That, and sports. I think he'd always wanted a son, but…" She shrugs and tosses the cloth into the sink. "It was just my sister and I."_

_Rachel had been a little tomboy, joining the girls' soccer team in middle school and attaining all sorts of sports trophies that she never managed to get. Rachel would play football with her father while she sat on the steps with a book on her lap, watching them toss the ball around. Then, when she was twelve, he got himself a new family, and in that one day, she gained two older brothers. Her father, of course, was delighted and eager to impress them. The only way she could get his attention after his second marriage was to learn how to be part of their activities, which included fixing cars and the likes of it._

"_It was his way of bonding with me, so…voila." She shuts the toolbox with a clean snap. "You get a woman who knows how to fix a leaking pipe." She feels his eyes on her, studying her, and she raises her brows. "What?"_

"_Two weeks. That's how long it took for you to tell me something new about you." He tilts his head, amusement on his features. "Yeah, I counted. It's only gonna get better from here."_

_She walks past him to the hallway without a word. It is easier if she doesn't address that particular comment of his. "There's Hawaiian pizza in the fridge if you're hungry," She tells him as they head into the living room. _

"_Thought doctors don't believe in fast food."_

"_Well, I worked overtime, so I've got a free pass." She stops by the kitchen. "So, yes or no?"_

"_Think I'm gonna have to pass this time round. The boss wants to meet me for dinner, so I gotta run soon. Here's hopin' I'm not on the list of people he's gonna fire." He gives a wry smile and drops onto the couch, slinging one arm on the back. _

_She uses the lull in the conversation to escape into the kitchen. It has been way too easy falling back into that same old routine she once had with him, and it scares her. Pulling a cup from the cupboard, she fills it with water from the tap. But it was her decision, after all, to invite him over. If she suffers because of it, it can only be her own fault._

_She returns, cup in her hand, and notices him gazing curiously at the wall. _

"_You like Little House too?" He asks._

_Her eyes flick to the framed picture of a tiny, crudely built cabin on a prairie even though she already knows what he is referring to. She smiles faintly. He still calls it Little House. She didn't think much of the painting then, but he wanted to get it for their house. Now she wouldn't sell it even if she were offered a million dollars. _

"_Juliet?"  
_

"_Yeah," she answers, pulled back to the present. "I do." _

_His piercing gaze makes her uncomfortable, and she breaks eye contact by moving to the overstuffed chair. _

"_He likes it too, doesn't he?"_

_She looks at him. "I'm sorry?"_

"_That guy who gave you that necklace. You keep touchin' it, like you're thinkin' of him. He's gotta like Little House on the Prairie too."_

_She does not find a reply ready on her tongue, so she drops her hand from her neck and wraps it with the other around the cup. It is a bittersweet feeling that comes upon realizing that his keen sense of observation hasn't changed._

_They turned it into a game, back then, watching people and their behaviour. They would sit in a corner of a café and try to conjure the most possible life stories for the strangers. _

_The old man with his dirty hat was a fisherman who goes to the lake every second Saturday of the month with his grandson. That girl sprinting for the bus was late for her ballet class. The young man with his darting gaze was a drug dealer under the fake identity of a high school teacher. The woman dressed to the nines with the trembling hands was actually an alcoholic. _

_It is not a pleasant feeling, to be reminded of what you have lost. _

"_Do you love him?"_

_The room vibrates with the low hum of the refrigerator. The porcelain cup is cool against her palms. He is looking at her. His face is etched with concern, and she is suddenly stricken by the fact that he has no recollection. _

_What is the use of delving into what no longer exists? _

_She presses her tongue against the edge of her teeth, fighting against the rising tide of anguish. _

_It is answer enough._

"_What happened to him?" _

_His voice is gentle, and it nearly breaks her. _

_Now that he is gone, she wants to tell him things she wishes she has told him before; how she regrets walking away from him that day after the fight, how she witnessed his restless tossing and turning from the nightmares, that she knows the guilt sometimes kept him awake at night. She needs to let him know that it doesn't matter who they were, only who they are, and in her eyes, he has done more than enough to redeem himself. _

_But she looks at him with cloudy vision, and the words lodge in her throat. What does it all matter? He doesn't remember. Swiping at the tears in her eyes, she tells him the truth. _

* * *

_He died._

_He rubs his thumb against the rough stubble on his jaw, lost in thought. When he'd set out to know more about Juliet Burke, he never expected to discover all that he is learning about her now. He wonders if the same event that took her daughter away was the same one that took the man's life. Perhaps it was a car crash. But his theories fade as another pressing question comes to mind. _

_How can he compete with a lover who has died?_

"_Hello, James."_

_He glances up, startled, as the quiet chatter of the dinner crowd filter back in. For once, he has been unaware of his surroundings. In an instant, he recognizes the man standing before him and stumbles to his feet. "Sorry, sir. I was…" He scrambles for a word. "Distracted."_

"_Don't apologize. Remember what I said. No sirs around here. Not out of the office."_

_He smiles broadly and reaches out to grasp the offered hand, giving it a firm shake. "Sure is nice to have you back here in the US again, Mr. Widmore."_

* * *

**_A/n: *Ben mentioned in TOW that she loved the opera. A broken heart led to the tragic deaths of the main female leads in Dido & Aeneas, and Madame Butterfly ._**


End file.
